


Saying I Love You Should Be So Simple

by LikeATeddyBear



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: BBC Sherlock - Freeform, Community: sherlockbbc_fic, M/M, Mind Games
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-25
Updated: 2011-10-25
Packaged: 2017-10-24 22:48:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 22,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/268757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LikeATeddyBear/pseuds/LikeATeddyBear
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It started as a slip up. A slipped out "I love you" that was brushed off as if it was nothing. It turned into an intense game of "don't mention the game, who can do it better."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The First Time

The odd day when it happened first, it was looked at completely in the wrong way. On a case, in the middle of an interview of a suspect.

The setting was quite familiar. They were in a suspect's house interviewing them. Of course, the suspect didn't know she was a suspect, she merely assumed they were asking after her mental health after the loss of her sister and going over the basic questions.

"We're here to talk about your sister, yes, but we're also here to talk to you – so that we can be sure you're okay," Sherlock said with a small, fake, reassuring smile and a glance at John.

John nodded and the woman sniffed and nodded as well.

And, with that, the questioning began. Sherlock asked many usual questions and took note of every single movement she made, ever infliction over every word she uttered. John stayed mostly quiet, letting Sherlock go on and on and stating his approval or put in a small word every time Sherlock turned to him for it.

It wasn't until they were almost done when John finally had a good question. It was asked very casually, as if he hadn't been waiting for the perfect instance to ask it. His question was a particularly interesting one that Sherlock had somehow not thought of. It caught Sherlock off guard and he spoke quietly before the suspect answered.

"Well done, John, really!" John blinked at him in pleased surprise. Sherlock didn't even realise the next words he said until they were already out of his mouth, eyes shining. "I love you."

John looked at him for a second before returning to listen to the suspect's answer. It caught her slightly off guard and she answered perfectly, confirming that she had, in fact, murdered her sister. She didn't realise this, however, and she would be quiet shocked later that day when the police showed up to drag her away.

Of course John thought Sherlock had said it for some genius reason. For some way to get this particular answer out of the suspect. Sherlock could see it in his face. He didn't bring it up, however, and so neither did Sherlock.


	2. The Second Time

The second time, it was more casual.

Sherlock had just finished a very annoying case. It wasn't easy, but it wasn't too difficult. Normal, as cases went. It held his interest.

The down side was that it was just majorly annoying.

The woman he had to interview had very vague answers. And when she did answer clearly, it was almost always a lie. In the end, it turned out she wasn't guilty; she was just a compulsive liar.

The man he had to interview was a very _thorough_ answerer. This would have been extremely useful if he had been talking about the case or any of the questions they asked him. They would ask him about the garden, he would talk about a new plant he was growing. They would ask him about his daughter and her involvement, he would talk about her new boyfriend and how he wasn't so sure if he liked him, but how he thought that he might be able to warm up to him if, god forbid, he wished to marry his daughter.

And when it was over, Sherlock was frustrated and bothered and hungry. He was on the couch, grumpily on his back, with a pout. John had walked into the flat after work to see it. He only stopped for a quick second before he turned right around and left again, causing Sherlock to glare at the door and put a pillow over his head with a frustrated yell.

It was only about half an hour later when he heard the flat door open again. Nothing had changed with him; he was just as annoyed and just as stuck on the thought of both somehow hurting the people in charge of the case, maiming the people he interviewed, and finding something - anything, everything- to eat, as he was horribly starving.

He grumbled when he heard John's footsteps and was too wrapped up in his own head to realise what he really should have realised as soon as John entered the flat, or maybe as he left it.

John took the pillow off of Sherlock's face while leaning over him. Sherlock glared up at him, but then an amazing aroma hit him. His eyes fluttered shut and he inhaled deeply, mouth falling open as he exhaled in delight.

"I got us some take-out," John chuckled, dropping a bag into Sherlock's hands. Sherlock clutched at it and opened his eyes, sitting up and opening the bag, staring at the contents in joy, all his misery forgotten as his basic body functions took over.

"Aah, I love you!" and he dug right in. John merely chuckled and sat down in his own chair to eat. They spent the rest of the night chatting and were both in generally good moods for the next few days.


	3. The Third Time

The third time was not even a bit noticeable. They weren't on a case, but they were on the way to one. John insisted that they stop by the hospital to fill out a form he had apparently forgotten to fill out.

Sherlock grumbled on the way there, speaking of wasted time, claiming that if they just quickly nip over, he could at least have something to think about as John fills out the paper work.

"It'll only be a minute, Sherlock, surely you can wait that long," John said, glancing over at him. "Would you like a puzzle to figure out instead?" Sherlock was silent for a moment.

"A puzzle?" he asked, quirking his head to the side and looking at John sitting next to him in the cab.

"Yes, here, try this one…" John shifted in his seat and turned towards Sherlock a bit, clearing his throat. "It is greater than God and more evil than the devil. The poor have it, the rich need it and if you eat it you'll die. What is it?"

"Nothing."

"Right, okay… I am the beginning of the end, and the end of time and space. I am essential to creation, and I surround every place. What am I?"

"The letter "E." Honestly, John, at least make them challenging."

"What begins with T ends with T and is full of T?"

"A teapot, Joh-"

" _Where does the general keep his armies!?_ "

"In his sleevies," Sherlock snickered in reply. John sighed.

"Well, at least I can say that I tried," John retorted in a somewhat disappointed voice. He was upset that he didn't even slightly faze Sherlock with his riddles.

Sherlock turned away with a very loving grin. Although the riddles were easy to figure out, he loved the fact that John at least tried. No one else was as patient as this man. No one else was as compliant, amusing, quirky, amazing, and just so damn patient as the man sitting next to him.

When they arrived at the hospital, John hurried in as Sherlock asked the cabby to wait there. He swept into the hospital after John and leaned against the counter next to him.

Sherlock watched him carefully, the way his hands flipped through the papers to find the paper he needed. The way he opened the pen and began to write – but – no – it wasn't working, so he licked the tip a bit. Sherlock held back a grin when John grumbled about the pen and got a new one, and he began ringing on the desk bell quite quickly again and again "I love you" in Morse code.

.. / .-.. - ...- . / -.- - ..- .-.-.-

.. / .-.. - ...- . / -.- - ..- .-.-.-

.. / .-.. - ...- . / -.- - ..- .-.-.-

"Yes, yes, alright, Sherlock, I'm hurrying!" John snapped. Sherlock stopped tapping with a frown. He had assumed that John might know Morse code. But it left his mind when John got his attention by grabbing his arm and dragging him out of the hospital to the cab on the way to the case.


	4. The Fourth Time

The fourth time, Sherlock actually wanted John to know it. He really wanted him to know he meant it.

The timing could have been better.

"John, I don't think you get this-" Lestrade was saying, eyebrows furrowed.

"No, really, I do get it. Actually, it's really not as hard as you're making it out to be. I understand that as a detective you want to look deeper into things, but, in this case, the answer is the obvious one that everyone is overlooking! Right, Sherlock?"

"I love you."

And everyone went silent. Lestrade and John were both staring at Sherlock. The rest of the crew was pretending to not pay attention, but no one was talking. After a minute, Sherlock was still looking right at John. He glanced at Lestrade and then back to John.

"Have I done something wrong?" Sherlock asked, raising an eyebrow. Lestrade was the one to reply.

"No, not at all, Sherlock." But his expression was amused as he turned to look at John, who was still just looking at Sherlock. Sherlock looked back at John with the same raised eyebrow.

"John?" John pressed his lips together with a look that clearly said 'We'll talk about this later.'

Later, Sherlock had forgotten about it. They entered the flat, a case solved and a feeling of triumph completely surrounding Sherlock. He walked into the kitchen and actually started making tea. John followed slowly behind and stopped at the table.

It wasn't until Sherlock turned around and put down John's tea for him that he noticed John's expression.

"Oh, right," Sherlock said quietly, and then took a sip of his tea.

"Sherlock, I know you must think it's funny or maybe you have some plan, but it's just…" John shook his head.

"Ah. You still think it's for a case?" John furrowed his eyebrows.

"I don't see what else it could be for. I know you, an-"

"Obviously you don't know me well enough, John."

They were silent for a few seconds as Sherlock drank more of his tea. John picked up his own tea and took a sip before his mind got the better of him.

"Then you're trying to make people think we're in some sort of… romantic relationship?"

"No," Sherlock said with a little indignant raise of pitch. "We're not, so why would I do that?"

"Then why?"

"Because I love you." John rolled his eyes and Sherlock frowned.

"Right, yes, I got that."

"John-"

"It's not funny, Sherlo-"

"That's really not what I've been going for, John," Sherlock said as he put his tea down on the table with a glare. John raised an eyebrow.

"Then what? Am I part of some sort of-" Sherlock spoke over him.

"No, John, I love you." They had a mini stare down. John pressed his lips together for a second, annoyed.

"I'll be back in an hour." He turned around and walked out of the kitchen. Sherlock half followed him.

"Where are you going?"

"Maybe you'll be ready to tell me when I get back," John stated stiffly while putting his jacket back on. He looked at Sherlock as he walked out of the flat and there was a little gleam in his eyes. Sherlock was alarmed; John obviously had some sort of plan.

"I have told you," Sherlock muttered to the closed door.


	5. Every Game Begins With A Plan

Sherlock was waiting quite impatiently. He finished his tea cup and waited. Flipped on the television only to flip it off again and make another cup of tea. Even took a shower to try to distract himself. Nothing could be done. He couldn't, for the life of him, figure out what the look on John's face meant.

He was plotting something – but what could be plotted from Sherlock saying that he loved him? Something cruel, that's what. Sherlock just couldn't figure out what. Of course, since John wouldn't let himself be convinced that Sherlock was serious, he wouldn't see it as cruel at all.

The more Sherlock thought, the more he paced. The longer he paced, the more tea he made. The more tea he drank, the more he had to take breaks to go to the bathroom. Sherlock was through at least six cups of tea by the time he heard the door click open after he turned the sink off in the bathroom for the third time.

He listened for a moment and realised that John had brought someone with him. He cautiously looked down the stairs, trying to stay out of sight. He heard the low rumble of a man's thick accented voice.

"Put them over there, yeah," he heard John say to him. "Thank you." And he closed the door behind the man. The flat fell silent. "I know you're there, Sherlock."

Sherlock didn't particularly care.

"Sherlock?"

He heaved a sigh and trugged down the stairs in a mope. He reached the bottom and waited, looking at John and noting the way he looked slightly uncomfortable, but mostly triumphant.

"What did you do?" Sherlock asked, noting in his mind that John had specifically asked someone else to carry whatever it was so that there would be no trace of it on his person. He knew John was a fairly strong man, and certainly stubborn when it came down to things like that. He narrowed his eyes.

"I suppose you'll see later, won't you?" They had a mini stare-down, the tension building in the room. Sherlock put his chin forward slightly, looking down at John from across the room.

"What are you planning?"

"Not planning anything," John said with that smile. That smile that said "I'm not going to tell you, this is useless." That smile that said he was angry. That smile that Sherlock really saw no reason for him to have. Why couldn't he just believe him? Sherlock huffed and decided to change his angle.

"I… Earlier, when I-"

"No."

"John-" Sherlock started.

"Sherlock." John said firmly. Sherlock nearly snarled as he swept around and stomped off to his room, hearing John's "Such a child…" behind him before he slammed his door shut and threw himself on his bed.


	6. Not All Plans Work Out Perfectly

Sherlock didn't fall asleep. He wanted to know what John was up to. He was angry, yes, but he was mostly intrigued and a bit amazed that John was able to trick him like that.

About an hour after he stormed off to his room, he got up quietly and left it, going into the sitting room. He walked swiftly towards the closet where he knew to look, but, before he got there, a hand grabbed his arm. He turned swiftly, attempting to flip his attacker over, but ended up being the one pinned to the floor on his back.

He glared up at John, who just looked tired.

"Get off of me!" Sherlock spat as he suddenly flailed around, trying to get his arms out of John's hold and his legs unpinned. John stood up and let go, moving towards the door and standing in front of it.

"You're acting like a child trying to find the Christmas stash, Sherlock. Just go to bed." Sherlock jumped to his feet. He gave a huff, breathing uneven from his thrashing around.

"I just want to know what it is!" he practically whined. John shook his head, expression serious. "John, you really should think about this."

"I have thought about it."

"You don't want to do this."

"I do."

"You must know I was completely serious."

John tilted his head, pressing his lips together and grinning a grimace. He shook his head. "You must think I'm an idiot."

"I know you're an idiot, John," Sherlock replied, frowning.

"Right, yeah, I forgot about that. Nearly everyone is, right?"

"Yes… You're not as bad as most people. But, yes, in this situation, you're being a complete moron. I love you."

"See, you keep saying that, but no one's even around!" John waved his arms.

"That's because I mean it!"

John's jaw set and he closed his eyes, facing down. There was a minute of silence.

"I'm going to bed," John finally said, looking up at Sherlock. He began walking, but stopped right before he passed by him. "Don't go into that closet, Sherlock." Sherlock gave him a look. "Please." With that, John went to bed.

Sherlock stood there for a while, staring at the closet. As if he would just walk away from it. He sneered and walked towards it, his hand ready to grasp the handle- but he stopped short and stared at the door. He gave a huff and went to bed. He fell asleep quite quickly, considering the mess.

It wasn't until three days from that point where John finally showed his hand. He had been extremely busy with work, and Sherlock had been busy being incredibly bored. Neither of them had mentioned the subject since, and Sherlock was half considering dropping the whole "wanting John to know" deal.

Sherlock finally got a call just as he went to carve yet another sculpture into the last coffee table leg that day. It was Lestrade, and he had a case. Sherlock was ecstatic. Days without a case, not even anything on his website. He was still talking on the phone when John arrived home with a bag for the fridge.

"Sherlock," John said slowly after he reentered the sitting room. Sherlock waved a very impatient hand as he continued to listen to Lestrade. John set his jaw and stood there until Sherlock hung up the phone and jumped out of the chair. "What the bloody hell did you do to the table?"

Sherlock looked down and stepped back to admire his sculptures.

"I made art, John. Surely you can appreciate that." John looked down at them as well.

"As impressive as they are, Sherlock, now the table's more likely to break with the weight of all the books you always drop on them during cases." Sherlock looked at John.

"No, John, it will be fine."

"It won't."

"I assure you," Sherlock said, passing by John to the door of the flat, "it will be." He swung open the door and started down the stairs, calling behind him "John, hurry! We have a big one, this time, it seems!"

"Yeah, be right there," John answered, glancing towards the closet. He quickly grabbed his phone out of his pocket and sent a quick text. He ran down the stairs after Sherlock, but stopped at Mrs. Hudson's door and knocked. She answered rather quickly.

"John! Hurry!" Sherlock yelled from the street as a cab turned around the corner.

"Mrs. Hudson, a man is going to show up and ask to be let into our flat. Let him, but keep an eye on him, okay? He's going to fetch some boxes from the closet."

"Alright, dear," she chuckled, "Hurry off, now, or he'll be in a right state! That man really can-"

"Thank you, Mrs. Hudson," John said quickly as he bolted out of the door. She nodded meekly and went back into her flat.

John hopped into the cab right after Sherlock and they were off.

* * *

The case was an easy one, it turned out, which only frustrated Sherlock. What wasn't helping was that John kept "accidentally" bumping into him every so often while they were brainstorming or while Sherlock was looking over something, and then apologising by saying "Sorry, sweetie" or "Sorry, sugar" or "Sorry, love" or, several times, "Sorry, honey." Lestrade was "kindly" ignoring this and trying his best to keep Anderson and Donovan quiet.

Of course, Sherlock knew he was doing it for some not thought out reason on John's part, and Sherlock finally snapped at him with the last one, claiming that John was doing it on purpose, that he was "NOT, in fact, an ingredient for tea" and that he would very much appreciate it if John would keep to his side of the room while Sherlock worked and only speak when spoken to.

He didn't fail to see the smirk on John's face, but he also didn't particularly care.

When they were done, however, Lestrade asked them to return to his office to discuss something. It was still fairly light outside, though the sun was threatening to go down.

When they arrived, Sherlock dragged John to the office by the arm of his jacket, causing him to stumble several times and causing Sherlock to sneer sarcastically "Oh, sorry, cream" or "So sorry, chocolate" or even "I'm sorry, my sweet strawberry jam on toast."

It would have seemed like a challenge if anyone had been around, but they were alone on the walk there, so John realised he was angry with him. Which just caused him to be angry in return. They reached Lestrade's office and he turned around to them shoving at each other.

"Sorry, pumpkin!" John snapped, shoving.

"I _do_ apologise, grapefruit, my dear!" Sherlock snapped back, shoving back. They stopped shoving at each other and glared instead.

"Lover's spat?" Lestrade asked timidly.

"Why did you call me down?" Sherlock spat, still glaring at John. There was a moment of silence and he looked up at Lestrade with venom and swept past John into the room. John grumbled something under his breath that sounded a lot like "I think you dislocated my arm…"

Sherlock snorted slightly and took the packet that Lestrade was holding out to him.

"We had some paperwork for you to fill out, since you witnessed some of it." Lestrade sounded uncomfortable. Sherlock glanced up at him from the packet and raised an eyebrow. Lestrade shrugged slightly at him and handed him a pen.

Of course Sherlock noticed when John slipped out of the building, but he didn't mention it. He was still fuming and he was pretty sure John had bruised his arm.

It wasn't until he heard a racket coming from outside that he followed the several people hurrying past the office, Lestrade right behind him.

What he found outside actually did set him into shock and horror.

John Watson was standing very shyly by a declaration of love spelled out in bunches and bunches of flowers (fake, but impressively made with feathers and still made to look real). It said "JW (heart) SH" and John had a very sheepish grin on.

Sherlock went red. John really had no idea what he was doing. The odd thing wasn't the fact that John had done it, it was the fact that Sherlock was furious that he had. And he wasn't angry because John didn't understand what he did, shockingly, he was angry that he had done it at all.

And he knew this was exactly the type of anger John was looking for. Everyone was looking from John to Sherlock and Lestrade looked like he was the only one to truly understand that Sherlock was not at all pleased with this turn of events. He cleared his throat rather loudly.

"Shouldn't you all be getting back to work? We're right in the middle of several things! We've been _very_ busy lately!" No one moved for a second. Sherlock took a step towards John with a horrible scowl on his face, and John finally looked alarmed. "BACK TO WORK!" Lestrade yelled, and everyone scampered away just as Sherlock broke into a run.

The last person closed the door behind them just as Sherlock tackled John to the ground with a punch, Lestrade right behind him pulling him off by his long coat.

"Oi! Calm down!" he snapped, holding Sherlock back.

When they finally calmed him down, the three of them were all tangled up. Sherlock was being held down by both of them, sneering and not making eye contact, and John and Lestrade had somehow gotten tangled trying to still Sherlock.

"If I'm understanding correctly," Lestrade huffed, trying to catch his breath, "The two of you are having some sort of weirdo love-off?"

"I wouldn't call it that…" John replied.

"Then what would you call it?"

"I'd say," Sherlock snapped, "I told John I loved him and he took it as a joke."

John rolled his eyes and Sherlock growled in warning, his body tensing up again. Lestrade and John held him down.

"There's a reason behind it, there always is," John said to Lestrade. "The first time was for a case, clearly, as it got the answer we had spent an hour questioning for. He's Sherlock-bloody-Holmes; Sherlock-'I'm Married To My Work'-Holmes. He doesn't _love_ \- he said himself that he's a 'high functioning sociopath.'" Lestrade grimaced. Sherlock relaxed a bit. John had remembered all of that. Really? Half of it wasn't even all that important. But now at least Sherlock understood better why John thought he was joking.

"And what if he's serious?" Lestrade asked John, as if Sherlock wasn't fidgeting under the two of them.

"He's not, but he is stubborn as all hell, so this isn't likely to stop, because, I've been told, I'm also extremely stubborn." Lestrade gave a small sigh and let go of Sherlock, getting up and brushing himself off.

"I'm not getting in the middle of this," Lestrade stated, his hands up, "I'm not your therapist. Hopefully, you two will work it out for yourselves."

"Right," John muttered as Lestrade entered the building. He looked down at Sherlock who blinked up at him with an expression of a hurt puppy. The knowledge that John was unknowingly being completely cruel was enough to make him bitter, angry, pissy, but the actual feeling of just how cruel it had been was setting in, and he was hurt. John furrowed his eyebrows.

"Hey, I'm sorry, okay? I knew it'd piss you off, but I didn't realise you'd be that embarrassed by it."

"I love you," Sherlock stated again, not breaking eye contact. John's worried expression swapped quickly to a glare. Sherlock couldn't help but smirk at him.

"Yeah, sure." Sherlock moved to get up, but John held him down with a slightly alarmed expression.

"Get off of me."

"Are you going to hit me again?"

"No, John," Sherlock said, a bit of laughter in his voice. John at him in surprise, which, really, was what Sherlock was going for.

Sherlock shoved John off and John fell right on his arse, looking up in time to see Sherlock sprinting off to find a cab.

Not surprisingly, he was quick enough to get in one and zoom off before John caught up.

But his phone buzzed very soon after.

 _You want to play it like that, do you, Doctor Watson? Fine, then. The game is ON. -SH_


	7. The Domestic Game

When John arrived home, he found that Sherlock hadn't locked himself in his room, as he had guessed, or even run off with some excuse for an experiment, as he has expected. He walked straight into the flat and turned to put his coat on the hook only to see Sherlock leaning casually against the wall next to it, just out of John's reach.

"Hello, Sherlock," John said tersely. He didn't look at him, but he could feel his smirk. He adjusted his coat on the hook and went to turn around, but looked up suddenly when he heard an odd, happy sigh from Sherlock. He frowned at Sherlock's happy expression, but noted the hardly hidden smirk. "What?"

"Just glad to see you home, darling," was the response. John looked at him only for a second before he realised the game had already started.

"I thought…" John muttered, brows furrowed as his fingers twitched slightly on his tie. Sherlock tilted his head in question. "That the game was outside the flat. Though, I suppose, now that I think about it, you still played your own inside, didn't you?"

Sherlock merely smiled at him, his face clearly saying "I'm winning; you're horrid at this" to John, but actually saying "How completely endearing this infuriating man can be." John straightened up slightly, aware now that he had actually addressed the game, which made him feel awkward, but mostly made him feel like he was losing, which he was. He turned and went towards the kitchen.

"Would you like some tea, love?"

"I certainly would, dear." Sherlock's voice was a lot closer than he had expected it to be, causing John to jump and Sherlock to chuckle in a way that gave John goose bumps. He looked over at Sherlock in surprise to see an extremely loving expression on his face. John cringed slightly and turned back towards the tea he was making, thinking of how great of an actor Sherlock was.

Everything they uttered to each other was coupled with an endearing term. Lestrade would call this game they were playing "flirting," but John seemed to see it as "I'm finally going to beat him at something, or die of embarrassment trying!"

They spent the night watching a stupid show John was rather fond of, and Sherlock didn't complain once. John saw this as part of the game and so he didn't complain when he found a bag of toenails (full nails, not just clippings) in the pantry labeled "Not a seasoning," but, instead, he chuckled warily at the labeling and held his tongue.

They didn't sit next to each other.

Sherlock was trying to milk this game for all it was worth, so he was rather upset by this, but John didn't even seem to notice at all. When John finally stretched and yawned and complained about it being too late to watch another episode, Sherlock quickly agreed and turned off the television, following John like a puppy to his bedroom.

John stopped at his door and turned around, leaning against the door frame.

"What is it?" Sherlock asked, actually a bit surprised, and more than a bit hopeful. John shook his head at Sherlock.

"It's been quite a lovely day, my dear, but I'm afraid we're just not at that stage in our relationship yet."

Sherlock looked completely bemused.

"What? What stage?"

"You're not sleeping in my bed, Sherlock," John stated. "We're not ready for that yet."

Sherlock would have been sputtering random things about how it really wasn't that big of a deal, how it wasn't fair, and how he really should be able to, if he hadn't been Sherlock Holmes and he didn't know how to manipulate.

"You're losing this game quite badly, my love," he replied in a deeper voice, looking down his nose at John, his chin out haughtily. What he didn't put into account was the fact that he was talking to John Watson, the man who spent half his time completely surprising Sherlock (even if he'd never admit he was surprised).

John smiled at him.

He smiled and brought a hand up to the back of Sherlock's neck, pulling him down. Sherlock was suddenly shocked, eyes wide, and obeyed by leaning down, arching his back slightly and bowing his head. John leaned in carefully and Sherlock waited impatiently, his lips quivering slightly in anticipation, but John merely pulled him down more and kissed him on the forehead.

It had seemed like forever, but it really was quite a swift movement.

Sherlock blinked in surprise and was still bent down at a weird angle when he heard John murmur "Goodnight, Sherlock," onto his forehead and let go, going into the bedroom and closing the door behind him.

And he was still standing there with his head bowed and his back arched just the same way when, a split second later, he heard John snickering from inside his bedroom. He could tell that John was trying to be quiet, and he could tell that his hand was covering his mouth.

Sherlock straightened up and stared at the door for a second before his mouth twitched and his hand instinctively covered it. He joined John in his laughter, and soon they were cackling on opposite sides of the door, leaning against it and gasping for breath.

When they both calmed down, there were a few sighs of mirth and a few left over giggles that came spilling out until things finally fell completely silent with an almost joined sigh.

Maybe this wasn't going to be as torturous as he thought it would be. Not if John was going to play the game like that. Certainly not if he was going to play it like a real relationship. Not if Sherlock really figured out the correct way to manipulate Doctor John H. Watson.

Not if he knew how to play the game correctly.

And he damn well was going to figure it out as soon as possible.

"Goodnight, John," Sherlock chuckled quietly.

"Goodnight, Sherlock, now go to bed, you bloody impossible man," John chuckled quietly in response.

And so he did.


	8. The Correct Way To Manipulate Doctor John H. Watson

The funny thing about Doctor John H. Watson wasn't the fact that he put up with Sherlock Holmes, it was that he played along with him. While certain things could be much too much even for John, many of Sherlock's plans, plots, and games were at least semi-enthusiastically joined by John quite swiftly.

The funny thing about him was that any game Sherlock challenged him with was a chance for him to beat Sherlock, and he jumped at that chance.

So, when Sherlock called the misunderstanding a game, John was not going to give up easily.

John woke up early the next morning to get ready for work. It was his usual movements. He woke up to his quiet alarm and turned it off, sitting up and stretching in his bed. He trugged into the bathroom across the hall, still stretching as he went.

Odd little things kept happening, however. He would usually get out of the shower and wrap a towel around his waist to go into his room to change for work. This day, however, he got out of the shower to find his work clothes freshly ironed and ready for him right in the bathroom. He blinked in surprise and slipped them on.

When he felt how warm they were, the image of Sherlock ironing with an apron on and his hair pulled out of his face with a handkerchief came into his head, and he was soon doubled over with laughter. He quieted it quickly, trying not to snicker, as he left the bathroom.

And when he went downstairs, his perfect breakfast and tea was out and ready for him, paper open on the table in front of it. There was no sign of Sherlock as he ate and read happily. He was quite enjoying this game. If Sherlock was going to do this throughout it, he might just never stop playing. Maybe he'd even go shopping while he was at work.

He hummed to himself as he put his dishes in the sink and turned the water on, but he was bumped out of the way and stood there for a second in shock as he watched long-fingered, slim hands cleaning the dish and cup expertly before snapping the water off and drying them very thoroughly. Sherlock moved him further out of the way and put the dishes away in the cabinets.

"Thank you," John said after a moment. Sherlock didn't even glance at him as he started cleaning the crumbs off of the table. John opened his mouth, but closed it again, thinking better of himself, and turned to get his coat. Before he was there, however, Sherlock swept past him, grabbing his coat and helping him into it. John was completely bemused. "Don't you think you're overdoing this a bit?" was what he muttered as Sherlock zipped and buttoned his jacket up.

"Have a productive and interesting day at work, try not to bring any illness home unless it's something I haven't seen before, and it would be nice if you could pick up some rabbit heart and frozen hamsters on the way home, dear," Sherlock said quickly as he kissed John on the top of the head and spun him around, leading him out the somehow already open door. There was also already a cab waiting for him. John turned back around only to see a closed door.

"Erm… Have a good day, Sherlock," he said to the door, scratching his head. He turned back around and hurried to the cab.

Lestrade, as it turned out, was far too interested to mind his own business. John was fairly surprised when he received a text.

 _**Sorry to bother you. Was wondering if Sherlock was still acting odd. Thnx.** _

**Quite alright. Yeah, he's acting just as odd. Maybe worse. He turned the thing into a game. It's really weird, though. This morning… Well, it's kinda like he's trying to woo me or court me or something.**

 _**What do you mean** _

**He made me breakfast and ironed my work clothes.**

 _**Christ** _

**I know.**

That day seemed to be the day for texts, as he received plenty from Sherlock throughout.

 _We're out of milk. –SH_

 _John, we're out of milk. –SH_

 _I would appreciate it if you didn't ignore my texts. –SH_

 _I understand that you're at work, but surely you have some spare time to reply with a simple "I'll get the milk, Sherlock, no problem at all." –SH_

 _John. –SH_

 _John. –SH_

 _JOHN! –SH_

 _Right. Consider us officially in a fight. I expect you to bring home a present for me as an apology. –SH_

 _It better be a good one. –SH_

John only got a chance to look at his phone when he was walking out of the hospital after his shift. First, he groaned because "Oh, great, we're in a fight!" but he soon after broke into giggles when he realised that he had apparently forgotten that they weren't actually in a relationship.

When he walked into the flat, he found Sherlock leaning over some sort of experiment on the counter.

"Did you get the milk?"

"'Course I did, _honey_."

John put the milk in the fridge and Sherlock looked up with a cold expression. John met his glare when he looked up and blinked in slight surprise. They were silent for a moment before John remembered.

"Oh, and I got you this," John reached into the bag and pulled out a certain type of chocolate that he had seen Sherlock buy almost every time he went to the store (which was quite rare.) Sherlock looked pleasantly surprised.

"I didn't think you'd actually get me something," he said in a small voice as he stared at the box John was holding out for him.

"No points for you, then, Sherlock," John said, shaking the box, mentally telling him to take the box because his arm was getting tired, "And extra points for me for going the extra mile." Sherlock continued to stare at the box, so John shoved it into his hands.

He looked at it for a second before placing it down on the table.

"Consider our spat over," he declared, arms stiff at his sides and a gleam in his eye that John missed altogether.

"Oh, good," John chuckled, looking over at the chocolates, "I was worried that I'd have to-" but he was cut off by Sherlock's mouth on his own.

His eyes widened and his heart stopped, but Sherlock didn't. His hands were in John's hair. He wasn't moving closer to him, but he hadn't moved his lips away. It was merely a long press of their lips together, but it was a complete shock for John. He regained his senses and grabbed Sherlock's shoulders, pushing him back.

"What are you doing?" he asked, exasperated. Sherlock looked extremely smug, a smirk working its way onto his face.

"Making up," he replied silkily. "I'm sorry I got cross with you, my sweet John."

"M-making up!" John sputtered, ears red. "Wh-wha-"

"No points for you, then, John," Sherlock mimicked smoothly, "And extra points to me for going the extra mile."

Sherlock smirked wider as John's mind went through half a million thoughts. He wasn't at all surprised when John chastely pressed his lips to Sherlock's. He wasn't even surprised when John held him there strongly for a few seconds. _It isn't out of affection or out of wanting to kiss me_ , he thought to himself _, it's merely out of anger and stubbornness at not being shown up._

He let go suddenly and Sherlock straightened up again, studying John's flushed face. He saw the twinge of anger twitching at the corner of John's mouth. John didn't want to do that, he felt that he had to because he didn't want to lose to Sherlock. Sherlock figured that the best way to go about this was to simply continue the game and make John feel more comfortable. If everything went as planned, John would soon know that he meant it when he said that he loved him. Each and every time.

That night, it was still too early in their relationship for them to sleep in the same bed, but not too early, Sherlock decided, for a sudden and extremely unexpected kiss - with a little tongue.

John snapped the door closed a little loudly that night and Sherlock only half-smirked at the door, the image of a very flustered and slightly affronted John still in his mind.

The next case they were on a week later wasn't too tricky, but it took the whole of the day. Lestrade, knowing of the game, was the only one not uncomfortable around John and Sherlock's odd behavior.

Sherlock would make a deduction, John would call it amazing while being completely sincere, Sherlock would smile and reply with "So are you, pet."

John would ask a question, Sherlock would call him stupid and proceed to explain why what he asked makes him stupid, and John would shut him up by shoving a small piece of his favourite chocolate into his mouth. It would have been simply a bit humorous, but the fact that it happened at least once every five minutes or so made it actually quite hilarious, putting Lestrade in the awkward situation where he had to hold back his laughter at each pleasantly surprised face Sherlock made when the amazingly effective chocolate was forced into his mouth.

At one point, they were on a chase. Not after someone, but rather to get to an area of the city before the sun set, as to see it from a certain angle that Sherlock wanted to see it at, the sunlight shining in a very specific way towards a very specific point. It was only a place they could get to by foot. Sherlock and John were much in the lead, as Lestrade and his whole crew was following straight after to keep track of what was happening in the case.

John would have been back with Lestrade and the crew if he wasn't having such a hard time running. By that I mean, of course, that Sherlock had grabbed his hand when he stumbled slightly and now they were running hand in hand, Sherlock's fierce grip making it impossible for John to let go and forcing him to sprint alongside Sherlock, even if Sherlock was the only one that really needed to be there in a certain amount of time.

And the whole crew looked pointedly away when Sherlock finished the case with an excited clap and grabbed John's face, kissing him on the mouth, and running off to finalize everything with one final clue.

John was very flustered that night and went straight to his room when they arrived back to the flat. Sherlock was too hyped up to notice at first, but soon realised how empty the flat felt that early in the night. On normal nights, one in the morning wasn't actually early, but on nights like these, they usually celebrated somehow.

The celebration usually involved John forcing Sherlock to eat and drink while they discussed the finer points of the case and then forcing him to go to bed when he gave a certain smile that lit up his face, but dimmed his eyes. This smile meant that the adrenaline was shifting away, but that Sherlock didn't want to admit it because he wanted to stay up. John always noticed and always rolled his eyes with a grin. Sherlock really was like a child at times.

But tonight Sherlock noticed that there was no one there to force a decent meal down his throat when he felt his stomach rumble and looked up for John only to not find him. So, naturally, he walked to his room and knocked on the door.

"John," Sherlock said sternly at the door, "I thought we had a routine."

"Not tonight," he heard from inside the room. He frowned at the door.

"John," he tried again, "if it'll make things easier, I'll buy the food."

"I'm tired, Sherlock."

He was silent for a second, eyebrows furrowed.

"John," he spoke yet again, "I would like to eat and I would really like you to join me."

The door opened angrily and John stood there in his pajama bottoms and no shirt, as Sherlock had always assumed he slept on hot nights like tonight, glaring up at Sherlock and still looking a bit ruffled and out of it. They looked at each other for a second.

"I'm hungry," Sherlock stated in a smallish voice. John glared at him for a second longer before sighing and dropping the glare.

"You're perfectly capable of getting your own food."

"I don't want to."

"But you can."

"Obviously, John," Sherlock stated, stopping himself from rolling his eyes, trying to please John, or maybe guilt him into eating with him. John pushed past Sherlock and took his phone out of his hand as he did. He dialed for Chinese delivery as he sat down on his chair. When he hung up, he found Sherlock standing in front of him.

"Why do you always sit in your chair? There's a perfectly comfortable couch over there."

"I like my chair."

"I understand that, but that doesn't mean you always have to sit in it."

John opened his mouth, and Sherlock knew he was going to talk about the game. Ask Sherlock about it, ask why they were doing it. He knew that John was wondering why he had joined in to begin with, but John merely closed his mouth again and flipped on the television. Sherlock stood there for a second longer before sitting down on the couch.

That night, their relationship was not only not ready for them sleeping in the same bed, it seemed to have taken a step back, as John closed the door without even looking at Sherlock when he said goodnight.


	9. Manipulation's Way Of Crossing The Line

There became a point, about a month and a half in the game, where the crew was more than a little uncomfortable. Sherlock kept sneaking up on John with public displays of affection, and while at first it could have been considered cute – a kiss on the cheek, a chaste kiss on the lips, a huge hug before running off with an idea – it began to cross the line a little bit.

The crew was beginning to get suspicious, and Lestrade didn't blame them. Half of them were completely sure that Sherlock and John were trying to pull one over on them. No real couple fought the way they did, even IF Sherlock seemed to be an exception to many rules.

The first thing that seemed a bit off was the fact that Sherlock kissed John in front of everyone and John merely got flustered, refusing to show that to Sherlock, but when Sherlock went to hold his hand the next case, John flipped out and began scolding him in front of everyone. And Sherlock didn't cower; he said "No points for you, Doctor Watson."

The same often happened whenever Sherlock decided it was alright for him to randomly grab or smack John's arse. It was usually joined with a yelp and a bark of laughter from Lestrade, occasionally a scoff from Anderson and/or Donovan becoming oddly quiet and avoiding the two of them for the rest of the day.

John very rarely initiated anything, but when he did it was a huge show, and never anything sexual. One of these instances was at the end of a particularly interesting case, a few months into the game. Sherlock was triumphant and proud, though bruised up from a fight he got in with the culprit.

They had arrived back to the courtyard on the way to Lestrade's office, and there was a whole crew of people there singing and dancing to Sherlock. He stood there, face reddening, until he joined in their ballroom-type dancing. He was too happy for his mood to be ruined, so he played along instead, specifically to see the look of awe, shock, and slight disgust on John's face.

As amusing as it was to see Sherlock dancing around (quite well, too), Lestrade's crew couldn't help but notice that John was disappointed that Sherlock was acting like he was okay with it. No one could help but notice how grumpy John was afterwards, especially when Sherlock volunteered to clean up after the dancers, as there were streamers and sparklers everywhere.

And the game was much more intense, as always, when they got home. Especially after that night. John refused to bring up the game, which Sherlock found intensely amusing. John had tried, on several occasions, to get ahead of Sherlock in the game by trying to make SHERLOCK mention it, which Sherlock also found intensely amusing, as it never did actually work.

Sherlock strode proudly into the flat that day after the case after saying a kind "No, thank you" to Mrs. Hudson when she offered to make them dinner "just this once." John was surprised, but followed Sherlock into the flat only to find Sherlock standing a few feet away from the door simply standing there looking smug and proud of himself. He couldn't help but chuckle.

"You're unbelievable," John muttered.

"Hm? What's that, John? Are you mocking me?" Sherlock asked in a loud voice, the grin on his face refusing to be any sort of toned down.

"Certainly not, love" John replied, "Simply stating facts."

"That's not true at all, John. If I were, in fact, unbelievable, no one would ever believe me and I would never have a case. So, it's not a fact, and I'd rather you not direct such stupid things towards me," he stated as he swept his coat off onto his arm and put it carefully on his hook.

"It's just a phrase. I'm oh, so sorry, Sherlock, _dear_ , sweat heart, _snuggly muffin_ ," John replied, rolling his eyes, voice dripping with his sarcastic, loving tone. "How could I possibly make it up to you, _honey_? Perhaps I could give you a back massage, _love_ , or even, perhaps, a _front_ massage."

Sherlock's glee toned down a bit, actually, after this. But not to make way for any negative emotion. Instead, it was a skeptical, humoured, evilly cruel looking smirk in John's direction.

"Oh, yes, that sounds quite lovely," Sherlock replied in a silky voice, playing along. John snorted and tried to hide the fact that he had said it on accident, but Sherlock had noticed the convulsive swallowing that came with nerves.

"Yes, well…" John stood there for a second thinking of a way out of the situation while Sherlock watched on in great amusement.

"Come, now, John," Sherlock said in a low tone, moving forward like a predator and watching John's expression go worried. "You're the one who suggested it, my dear," he purred as his hands settled on John's waist. John controlled his expression, but he was tense and Sherlock could feel the alarm tingling through his skin.

"I can't," John said suddenly, and quite loudly. Sherlock raised his eyebrows.

"Why ever not?" His fingers pressed in slightly.

"I've a vow. That... That I made."

"A _vow_?"

"Y-Yes, that I won't do anything of that sort until I'm properly married." John got a certain amount of courage in his system just from saying it. He continued on, standing taller and ignoring Sherlock's skeptical look and the fact that Sherlock _knew_ he'd had sex before. Nearly walked in on it once, in fact. "I'm afraid that it just isn't going to work that way, love, I'm sorry, and the same goes for you sleeping in my bed."

"Surely, the bed thing can at least be our exception, at the very least?" Sherlock asked, resting his forehead on the top of John's head and looking into his eyes. John blinked back in slight surprise and his expression utterly confused Sherlock. It was blank and it was… hypnotized.

"I suppose it can be, yes," was the next shocking thing John said. Sherlock gave a genuinely surprised smile and took his hand, leading them to John's bedroom before John could change his mind.

What Sherlock didn't expect, however, was that the darkness and comfort of John's bed caused words to come spilling out of his mouth. They were there, silent. Confused, maybe a bit awkward, on John's part. Thinking, on Sherlock's.

"Why do you never initiate a kiss?" was the first question the slipped out of his mouth unexpectedly. He cringed. He felt John shift in the darkness.

"Sherlock, can this be our safe zone? Where the game doesn't count?" Sherlock nodded before he realised that John couldn't see him.

"Yes. The question still applies." He couldn't see John, but he knew he had furrowed his eyebrows and, god, he wished his eyes would just adjust already, but it was a dark night out to begin with, and John had curtains on his windows, so it was just absurdly dark in his room.

"Why does it still apply?"

"Because I still wish to know the answer."

"Alright… I don't know. I just… don't."

"That's hardly an answer," Sherlock scoffed.

"Well," John started timidly, which interested Sherlock greatly. "I'm not as bold as you are, clearly."

"Did you know that I really like ballroom dancing?" Sherlock asked before nearly clapping a hand over his mouth. Never having had a proper sleep over before, he had no idea that the darkness before sleep could bring up all sorts of odd conversation that wouldn't have been touched in the daylight.

"No, I didn't," John chuckled, "You're quite good."

"Thank you," he smiled in return.

"Lestrade invited us to a play tomorrow evening," John said "casually" after a few seconds of silence. Sherlock snickered. "He knows about the game."

"I realise that, John, I'm not a moron. It's humorous to see him play along like he does."

"He seems to want to push us, as he said that he was bringing a date and it could be a 'double date' type deal." John yawned, stretching, as Sherlock thought about that, a plan forming in his head.

"Could be interesting." John paused mid-stretch.

"Sherlock…"

"Yes, John?"

"I know that tone of voice. What are you planning?"

"Nothing, shhh, go to sleep."

John snickered and Sherlock grinned in response, his eyes finally making out John's face. He was pleased to see that John wasn't looking like he regretted letting Sherlock sleep in his bed even a bit. John's smile faded a bit and Sherlock knew he was thinking about the game again.

"Doesn't this seem like an odd sort of game?" John asked after a second.

"How so?"

"It's not… a normal thing, between friends, this." Sherlock looked at him for a second, biting his lips together. His eyes went away from John's face when he opened his mouth to speak, causing him to miss John not so subtly looking at Sherlock's mouth. He looked back up at Sherlock's eyes right before Sherlock looked back, ears burning, not that it was noticeable in the dark.

"It may not be, but a game is a game. Not to mention, I rather like this type of game."

"What? What type of game?"

"The," Sherlock waved his hand around a bit, trying to think of a tactful way to say it, "Physical – and, I suppose, romantic – charade we have going on, here. It certainly helps me understand people better, seeing it from inside a relationship, fake or not."

"Physical?" John asked after a minute.

"Yes, John. I like kissing."

"Ah."

And it was silent. Awkwardly so. For quite a bit.

"It's been months since we started this," John stated. "Who's winning, anyway?"

"I'd think that would be quite obvious."

"You?"

"Mm," Sherlock affirmed, letting out a small yawn.

"You know, I don't think I can call the kisses you've been giving as "kissing." "Giving kisses," yes, for sure, but not... not "kissing.""

"Pardon?"

"I'm talking about making out. We've never made out, just small, sometimes, erm… "fierce" pecks on the lips and whatnot." Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "It's weird in a relationship, that's all," John shrugged.

"Is that an invitation?" Sherlock asked, tilting his head slightly so his mouth was a tad closer to John's, though they were still on separate pillows and sides of the bed. John stared at him in shock for a second.

"No, no! No, that's not what I was saying, I was just… Pointing it out," he said meekly, his voice shaking a bit at the end and his hand going up to scratch the back of his head as he swallowed a few times. Sherlock furrowed his eyebrows.

"Sounds like the night when you asked me out."

"Sherlock!" John snapped, exasperated. "For the last time, I wasn't asking you out!" Sherlock smiled at him until John reluctantly smiled back.

"Goodnight, John, my love," Sherlock said fondly. John chuckled and turned around.

"Goodnight, Sherlock, _my dear_."

Sherlock had plans set to a board in his mind, ready to start when the next day would begin. The day that they would go see a play with Lestrade and his date. John had let him sleep in his bed with him, and Sherlock had always seen that as a line that John was going to always refuse them to cross.

The next day would certainly be extremely interesting, now that this line had successfully been crossed.


	10. An Interesting Illness

"Alright, Sherlock, I have some jokes for you," John said proudly in the cab that next day. It was raining and John was quite happy, as Sherlock had spent the morning doing little favours and chores for him in order to woo him. And woo it did; John was more and more pleased each time he found something new Sherlock had done without being asked to.

"Go on, then, darling" Sherlock said, smiling at him past his grimace. He began to prepare himself to laugh at how horrible they were when he suddenly had a plan.

"Okay," John said, adjusting how he was sitting, just how he had done with the riddles. Sherlock smiled, but quickly bit his lips together to try to hide it. "How many mystery writers does it take to screw in a light bulb?" Sherlock snorted.

"Really, John? A light bulb joke?"

"It's a good one," John said defensively.

"Sure," Sherlock replied. "How many, then?"

"Two. One to screw it almost all the way in, and another to give it a surprising twist at the end." Sherlock shook his head with a grin. John pressed his lips together, a gleam in his eyes. "Fine, let's try another one. How many consulting detectives does it take to change a light bulb?"

Sherlock raised his eyebrows very high. John smirked and opened his mouth to tell him the answer, but Sherlock interrupted, putting his plan into play.

"A light bulb cannot be changed, John, it either is or isn't. You probably mean 'to replace a burned-out bulb with a new, working one.' At that, with design, logistics, manufacturing, and marketing of just that single bulb, there are actually _many_ people involved. It could, in fact, be argued that we _all_ play some part in the process."

John glared at Sherlock, but couldn't hold back a small giggle. Sherlock grinned at him.

"What was _your_ answer?" John hesitated, but brought himself up and looked Sherlock in the eyes as he continued.

"None. Unless it's a _murdering_ light bulb, it's simply not interesting enough; he's busy sulking about being bored and destroying some part of the house. Mrs. Hudson will do it, and, if all else fails, _John_ will do it. On top of _all_ of that, it was probably _his_ fault it went out in the first place."

John looked relieved when Sherlock smirked and rolled his eyes.

"Something tells me you made that up, John."

"Damn it, that was a secret," John teased. Sherlock grinned and John shifted again. "Alright, I've got another one."

"Go on."

"Why is six afraid of seven?"

"Six is a number, not a living being, and, as such, is not sentient and cannot feel fear or - cannot be _afraid_ of _seven_. I would take a guess that, if Six is actually a person and Seven is a different person, either Seven has a knife, or, as the ' _joke'_ tends to go _, 'Seven ate Nine,'_ if Nine is also a person. Which, in true context, gives the joke a rather crude element of _human_ _cannibalism_ that really makes it funnier, if you ask me, but I don't think many other people would agree."

"You're very good at ruining my jokes."

"I rather think I'm making them better," Sherlock replied, looking at John and seeing clearly that he finds it highly amusing. " _You_ certainly are enjoying it."

"Alright," John said reluctantly, "I am. Knock knock."

"Come in," Sherlock said and John nudged him, snickering. "I have one."

"Oh, this should be good."

"Knock knock," Sherlock said, nudging John back.

"Who's there?"

"To."

"To who?"

"To _whom_." John let out a bark of laughter.

"That was a good one! _Very_ clever!"

"I can't say that it's my own, but I don't need jokes to be clever," Sherlock said smugly. John snorted.

"Okay, what do you tell a woman with two black eyes?"

"Domestic violence is a crime. She should leave her abusive partner and seek help right away."

"You're sort of telling kinds of anti-jokes," John said after a moment of his stifled giggling. "Let me have a try. Why did the boy drop his ice cream?" Sherlock raised an eyebrow in question. "Because he got hit by a bus."

Sherlock let out a startled giggle, receiving a very pleased look from John in reply.

"And, how do you confuse a blonde?"

"John, you do realise _you're_ blonde, right?"

"Paint yourself purple and start throwing spoons at her." Sherlock laughed. John was really enjoying this. Sherlock's laugh was like music with his low voice. It was interesting how it changed to different pitches with each different type of laugh.

"We're here," Sherlock chuckled, opening the door and holding out a hand for John to take. John rolled his eyes and took it, allowing Sherlock to help him out of the cab.

He didn't let go of John's hand as they walked. John only tugged once, trying to get him to let go, but he quickly gave up with a small sigh, turning his face slightly away from Sherlock and looking around absently. Sherlock looked over at him and was surprised to see a small smile on his face. The smile on his own face must have been at least slightly blinding, because John glanced at Sherlock and suddenly looked a bit flustered in his act of trying to hide his smile, his ears turning a bit red as they both looked forward again.

They reached the front door and Sherlock held it open for John. The lighting in the first room was fairly impressive, since the room was nearly like a hallway, the front being where people give their tickets and the right and left being paths in. Sherlock held onto John's arm with his own gently as they moved forward and gave their tickets.

Their balcony seats were very comfortable, but Lestrade wasn't there yet. Sherlock took off John's coat for him.

"You really don't have to do that, Sherlock, I'm perfectly capable," John muttered as Sherlock put the coat on the back of John's seat. He merely smiled at John and sat down next to him, his own coat on the back of his chair.

And Lestrade showed up, looking quite happy, with someone they didn't know. They shook hands with her and introduced themselves, Sherlock paying careful attention to the way she looked at John, even if the look really didn't mean anything.

And, so, the show began.

Ten minutes into the show, Sherlock sighed.

Thirty minutes in, he put his feet up on the ledge. John was glad Sherlock wasn't blocking anyone's view.

Thirty five minutes in, he sighed again. John gave him a look and Sherlock gave a bored look back.

Forty minutes, he was looking at his watch and adjusting his feet. Lestrade ignored him completely, but his jaw tightened.

Forty five, he leaned his head back, looking at the ceiling. John took his hand. Sherlock froze and lifted his head. John was watching the play. Sherlock leaned forward a bit to get John's attention, but John's thumb ran over Sherlock's hand, rubbing it gently. Sherlock smiled.

Sixty minutes in, Sherlock was "watching" the play blissfully, his hand warm, caressed, and held.

And then it was intermission.

"Intermission?" Sherlock muttered. John looked over at him in question, and then looked down for a second. His ears turned red when he realised there was no distraction from it anymore. "You mean there's more of it?"

"Yes, Sherlock. Plays are long. Haven't you been to plays before?" Lestrade said, stretching his arms and looking at their hands for a second.

"No. Well, I suppose I had when I was younger, at some point. Mother loved dragging us to things. I never paid any attention."

"We still have a while to go."

"Obviously," Sherlock said, standing up and letting go of John's hand. He picked up his jacket, but paused, staring absently at the closed stage.

"Oh, you're not leaving, are you?" Lestrade said in disbelief. His date sneezed suddenly, causing him to jump and turn towards her just as John spoke.

"Are you alright?" He stood up with a worried look. Sherlock blinked with a little shake of his head and looked at John.

"I'm fine. Dizzy. I'm fine. Sit down." John stayed standing, so Sherlock pressed on his shoulders with a determined look. Knowing that if he didn't give in there would be some sort of very immature and embarrassing wrestling match, John sat down. Sherlock reached into the pocket of his coat.

John, of course, had no idea what he was doing. Lestrade let out a very amused and breathy chuckle. His date let out a very excited sounding "Oh!"

And then Sherlock bent down on one knee in front of John.

And that's when John got it. Was the room getting hotter, or was it spinning? And who was pushing his jaw that tight? Did they know that it hurt? John tensed up unknowingly. He felt feverish. Sherlock smiled at him, but he saw it as more of a smirk. Other people in the balcony were looking on with excitement.

"John Watson," Sherlock said in a deep rumble. "Marry me."

It was a command. Not even a question. Sherlock opened the box for John and it was exactly something he would wear. Not too flashy, but obviously a wedding ring. And he knew that it was expensive, even if it didn't look it from his eyes. When had Sherlock even had time to do this? It had to have been this morning when he went shopping, even if he was only gone for about twenty minutes.

John had been silent for a long fifteen seconds. He felt a nudge and suddenly turned slightly to see Lestrade's date smiling at him in excitement.

"It's good and all to be excited," she said, her voice squeaking in her glee at witnessing such an event, "But I think he'd like an official 'yes!'"

John gulped and looked back to Sherlock, who had an odd look on his face. John cleared his throat a couple of times, swallowing nervously and adjusting in his seat. Everyone around them was waiting silently for his answer.

"Alright. Fine. I mean, yes. Of- Of course I will." John said absently and very quickly, not quite sure what he was doing anymore, but whatever it was, it was _not_ losing the game. Sherlock gave a small smile that looked a bit like a grimace and slipped the fitted ring onto John's finger. John grimaced back as everyone broke into applause.

Sherlock pushed himself to his feet and, very soon after, fell to the floor - unconscious.

"Oh!" "He's fainted!" "How sweet!" a few people from the crowd commented.

"Aw," Lestrade's date squealed, hugging his arm tight, but Lestrade leaned forward with a worried look. John knelt down quickly next to Sherlock, knowing as soon as he stood up that something had been wrong. He checked him over thoroughly and quickly.

"No, no. No. He's ill. Is there a room we can take him to?"

* * *

Sherlock woke up in an annoyingly bright room. His head hurt, he was burning up, and his throat was killing him. He quickly covered his eyes with his arm, giving a small groan.

"All right..?" he heard John ask and felt his hand examining him again.

"How the bloody hell did I get sick so quickly?"

"What?"

"Lestrade's date is ill."

"Oh. Well, when's the last time you ate?"

"Uh…"

"There you have it. You've officially ruined your immune system. No food, last night was probably the first time you've slept in days. Can you walk?"

"Yes, I'm fine," Sherlock muttered as he pushed himself up, standing slowly and taking his jacket from John.

"I'm going to go tell Lestrade that you're alright. I called for a cab, we're going back to the flat. Wait for me outside."

John left the room swiftly as Sherlock slipped his coat on. He worked his way back to the balcony.

"Gregory, I'm sorry, we're going to have to call it a night. He woke up, but he looks awful. Thank you so much for inviting us. Also," he turned to the girl, "Sherlock told me to tell you that you're sick. You should seek a doctor right away, if it's anything as bad as Sherlock's."

"Did he really tell you to tell her that?" Lestrade asked. John paused and smiled sheepishly.

"I'll just be going, then."

When he got outside, he didn't see Sherlock anywhere. The cab was ready for them, however. John went to the taxi and was about to bend down to the window to tell the cabby to wait when he felt pressure to the back of his head. A chill ran through him when he felt the metal. His mind started working very quickly, training kicking in.

"Roses are red, violets are blue," started a _very_ deep voice with an odd accent, "I have a gun, get in the taxi." The last line was said in a very, very familiar voice. John let out a sigh of both relief and annoyance and turned around.

"Sherlock, that wasn't funny." But Sherlock sure thought it was. He was laughing, putting his umbrella back into his coat, and opening the door for John, forcing a very reluctant grin onto the doctor's face.

Once in the taxi, however, Sherlock didn't look as amused. The cab started moving and he doubled over, holding his head and groaning. John frowned at him. The fact that Sherlock was actually showing his pain said a lot to him.

He put his arm slightly around Sherlock, pulling him over and making Sherlock rest his head on John's lap. Sherlock didn't notice until his head stopped pounding and he felt John's hand on his forehead.

"I think your fever got worse," John muttered to him. Sherlock gave a slight nod, even though he knew it was simply because he was blushing.

"Must have."

He cringed again when John took his hand away, his head pounding again. John saw this and put his hand back. The pounding mostly went away again.

"Your hand is like medicine," Sherlock said hazily. John chuckled, eyes staring at the ring on his finger and the matching one he had somehow not noticed on Sherlock's own finger. "John?"

"Hm?"

"You know what's worse than finding a worm in your apple?"

"…What?"

"The Holocaust. What's red and smells like blue paint?"

"What?"

"Red paint." John snickered, his hand playing with Sherlock's hair without John even realising it.

"What did the paraplegic boy get for Christmas?"

"What?"

"Cancer."

"God, that's _awful!"_ Sherlock whispered, laughing and clutching at his head at the same time.

* * *

The cab reached their flat and John helped Sherlock in and straight to his bedroom. He left Sherlock to make him some tea and change into something more comfortable, and when he came back Sherlock was in his pajamas and sitting on his bed in a haze.

"Drink this and take this," John said, giving him some acetaminophen and the tea.

"We're getting married," Sherlock replied, voice slightly slurred.

"Drink." Sherlock took the pills and sipped at his tea.

"There will be cake and Mycroft won't eat any and I'll laugh," Sherlock muttered, staring at his tea. John chuckled a bit. Sherlock sipped at his tea for a while. "And we'll dance and you'll see for sure that I'm fantastic at dancing."

Sherlock lifted the cup to drink more only to realise it was empty. He frowned at it. John took the cup away and stood up.

"Go to sleep, alright?" And he turned the light off.

"John," Sherlock said quite loudly. "Stay here."

"Sherlock, I can't just… I have to clean this, and, anyway, you're sick, and-"

"Please," Sherlock nearly whimpered. John stopped talking and stood there for a second. He then walked into the room, closing the door, and put the mug on Sherlock's bedside table.

"Come on, then, get into bed," John said, pulling Sherlock to his feet and pushing the blankets aside. Sherlock swayed a bit.

"I can't sleep standing up, John, that's just silly." John put his hands on Sherlock's shoulders to steady him.

"Get in the bed, Sherlock." Sherlock looked down at the bed and crawled in when John let go. John went to the other side and got into the bed as well.

"John, it's going to be perfect," Sherlock said very quietly, sounding like he was already nearly asleep.

"What is?"

"Our wedding, John," Sherlock snapped a tiny bit before his voice softened again. "It's going to be perfect. I'll make sure you love every second of it…"

"Erm… Sherlock? Bed time is game off time, remember?" John said, playing with the ring on his finger.

"I love you, John," Sherlock breathed out before falling completely asleep. John was very still for a long minute. He blinked his eyes closed, feeling suddenly exhausted.

"I… I love you, Sherlock," he said as softly as he could before drifting off, his dreams filled with ball room dancing, two-tailed coats, and a certain dark haired man who had an absolutely blinding smile. Not to mention the feeling of his arms wrapped around him, which was not unlike reality, though neither of them knew it at the time.

And, of course, John also got sick.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really, really love anti-jokes.  
> I dono if you could tell.


	11. There's Always Something!

Sherlock blinked his eyes open, suddenly aware of the sunlight across his face. What he was greeted with was a tiny, happy smile from a sleeping doctor. Sherlock wasn't sure how he got there, or how he had managed to make John stay in his bed, but he wasn't complaining.

He was suddenly aware, just as had happened with the sunlight, that his arms were around said doctor. And one of the doctor's arms was loosely around him in turn. Sherlock was happy about this, but somehow thought that John wouldn't be. He let go and moved John's arm. He moved back a bit so that they were a good, but still small, distance away from each other, rather than mere centimeters.

And then he saw the ring on John's finger. He was suddenly filled with the need to jump around. He had done it. Sure, he was tricking John into it, but maybe once they were officially joined, John would get the point. Maybe he would finally understand that this was only a game because John made it a game.

I mean, of course Sherlock played along and took his own hits. He was Sherlock Holmes, he would never pass something like that up. Too much fun to cease his boredom.

But this was important as well.

 _ I love you. _

It meant many things, but Sherlock had only thought about it once. That was all he needed. He considered what he thought it meant, what it had to mean, what others considered it, and it all came down to the man sleeping peacefully in front of him.

It meant he wanted John to be with him for the rest of his life, romantically or not. It meant that he enjoyed his company and nearly always wanted him around. Even when he didn't want him around, he wanted him around, if that made sense.

On any case, he wanted John there, even if he didn't actually need his help. John, of course, found this annoying. He could be doing other things. Sherlock forced him to stay when he obviously didn't need any help at all. It sometimes got to the point where John thought Sherlock would do better without him there. Several times, he tried just not going. Sherlock didn't put up with it. John had to always be there with him. He wanted him around and really didn't think twice half the time to how very patient John was with him. Sherlock could piss him off completely, and John would still do what was needed to be done for the case.

Sherlock couldn't see a day as any sort of worth it without John there. It didn't matter if he was nagging him about something, mad at him, making Sherlock mad, or forcing food down his throat – Sherlock was glad to have him around. And he didn't want him to leave. He had never had care like this before and he wasn't going to lose it.

It wasn't just that, however. Not nearly. He found John immensely intriguing. If John hadn't popped up that day, Sherlock would still be dragging himself around, only happy during a case, and not realising what he was missing.

Some people would say that if he didn't realise he was missing it, he was probably happy before John showed up, too, but the truth was that John brought along a happiness that Sherlock didn't know existed.

And, yeah, Sherlock knew that what he was doing and forcing now was a romantic deal, but at least it would get John to understand that he meant it when he said those three gigantically tiny words. Sherlock couldn't say he minded if their relationship ended up romantic, either, as these past few months have proven to be quite interesting, research-wise.

It wasn't a real "relationship," but it was still incredible.

It made Sherlock wonder what a real relationship would _be_ like with Doctor John H. Watson.

Sherlock pondered this as he played with the ring on John's finger. It fit his finger perfectly; Sherlock had made sure it would. It looked so nice on his hand. It was subtle, but still stood out. It said "Do not touch." It said "Property of Sherlock Holmes," if anyone knew anything about Sherlock's style. It was classy, but not flashy. It had meaning, however cliché it happened to be.

Sherlock turned over onto his back and suddenly started coughing, accidentally startling John awake. John jumped as his eyes flew open, but quickly clamped them closed and gave a small groan.

"Sorry," Sherlock managed between coughs. He pushed himself out of the bed and gave a couple more coughs before he managed to stop. He looked at John.

"I think you got me sick," John groaned slightly. "I knew sleeping here was a horrible idea."

"Why did you, then?" Sherlock asked as he slipped into his robe.

"You asked me to. Politely, even." John covered his head with the blanket. "We need to talk about this, you know," came his muffled voice from under the covers.

"You sound awful, I'm making us some tea," was Sherlock's only reply as he swept out of the room. John groaned in annoyance and peaked out from under the covers.

* * *

Of course, it was rainy yet again that day. Rainy and boring and they were both ill, drinking way too much tea. Sherlock was avoiding the subject of marriage, finding some way to distract John each time he brought it up.

Finally, John got fed up.

"Sherlock, I'm not letting you distract me this time. We're GOING to talk about this." Sherlock grimaced and turned to John, giving him his tea.

"I'd rather not."

"I can see that!" John said, exasperated. "Why not?"

"Because we're both ill, and I'd rather have that sort of conversation healthy," Sherlock explained as he led John to the couch. "Just in case I have to run," he added as an afterthought. John gave a huff of annoyance and frustration.

"I suppose it can wait. No more sleeping together, though."

"No points for you."

* * *

They weren't sick as long as they thought they would be, but perhaps it was because they kept inside, for the most part, Mrs. Hudson kept bringing them soup and groceries, and John was making so much tea that they could have exploded from it.

John, for once, was the first to notice when they were both better. He woke up feeling completely healthy and clear.

When Sherlock ventured downstairs that day, he saw trouble as soon as he saw John sitting "casually" in the living room.

"John," was all he said, with a curt nod, as he walked towards the door, his hand reaching out for his coat. John hurried to his feet and jumped over to Sherlock, pushing the coat against the door.

"Sherlock." His eyebrow was raised, saying that he clearly didn't forget about it.

"What?" was the innocent reply, wide eyes and all. John rolled his eyes and Sherlock's innocence mask pealed right off. He put his chin out and looked down his nose at John. "I'm not sure why you wish to talk about this."

"You- You can't just marry your best friend, Sherlock!" Sherlock's mouth quirked slightly at "best friend."

"Points off for breaking the wall of the game, John." John nearly growled, his fist grabbing Sherlock's coat in his annoyance.

"Ignore the game for now! The game is on pause! Now, honestly."

"And, why not? I don't see any reason we shouldn't. In fact, I think it might help our financial issues more," Sherlock pointed out, letting go of his coat and crossing his arms over his chest.

"I know perfectly well that you could live in this flat on your own, Sherlock. The only financial issue here is the fact that you keep getting me fired from my jobs."

"You don't have to come with me on cases, John."

"Yes I do! You don't let me stay behind. Believe me, I've tried." Sherlock moved his arms to his sides, biting his lips together.

"Alright, it would help _your_ financial issues. And it would make anything financial easier, clearly. Anyone can see that marriage can be a big help, at least in your case."

"This isn't an argument I'm going to have, Sherlock."

"Oh, good, then the wedding is in three weeks – on the day we met, only _this_ year."

"No- _No_ , Sherlock. What I meant was- I'm _not_ marrying you!"

" _Why!_ _?_ " Sherlock nearly yelled, finally losing a bit of his temper. John was startled for all of a second before he regained his composure.

"Because," he started. He gave a very annoyed, loud sigh before he tried again. "Because, Sherlock. Because I said so."

"That's hardly an answer, and you already agreed to," Sherlock snapped, snatching John's ringed hand up with his own and showing him their rings. His voice lowered dangerously. "We're _getting_ married, John."

"Yeah, well, people call off weddings all the time, _Sherlock_ ," John snapped in reply, yanking his hand out of Sherlock's grasp.

"Why are you making this so difficult?"

"Because it is!"

"It really doesn't have to be!"

"Well, it is."

"You're very repetitive, I think it would be best if you would just shut up and go with it!"

"It's not happening!"

"Why not!?"

"Because I said so!"

"It's not a reason!"

"Yes it is!"

"No!"

"Sherlock!"

"Just _tell_ me why!"

"Because I love you!"

The flat was suddenly silent. There was a ringing in their ears from the sudden silence, but neither of them noticed. John was too enraged and Sherlock was too shocked and confused.

"Excuse me?" was all he could manage. For what seemed like the first time in his life, Sherlock was at a loss for words.

"You heard me. I'm not saying it again." John's jaw tensed before he spoke again, his voice dripping with angry, spiteful sarcasm. "I think you've done a _fantastic_ job already of making fun of me for it, really, but it would have been much nicer if you had just ignored it or brought up the conversation like an adult, rather than purposely embarrassing and flustering me in front of everyone you possibly could."

"I—What?"

"I mean, of _course_ you found out. You're _Sherlock-Bloody-Holmes_ , Sherlock _"I Know Where And When You Last Got Your Haircut"_ Holmes! It was stupid of me to think I could hide it, but it just- it isn't _right_ for you to be doing this!"

"Wh… John-"

"I'm not doing this. Sherlock, I'm just not doing this anymore. I'm sick of your game, it's done. It's over with. Just—Here." John took the ring off of his finger and held it out to Sherlock. Sherlock stared at it stupidly for a bit, so John shoved it in his hand and grabbed his own coat. "I'll be back later." He paused right before he closed the door behind him, hesitating. "Maybe."

And he was gone.

And the flat was silent once again.

Sherlock stared at the door, his mind spinning, his mouth open.

"… _What?_ "


	12. Lestrade's Awkward Intervention

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anyone who wishes to see John and Sherlock's ring, it's on my Tumblr.

Sherlock could have laughed.

God, he could have. But he didn't.

Everything was clear, now that he finally looked at it. John actually had done a very good job of hiding it, but if Sherlock hadn't been so sure that John wouldn't feel the same way, he could have figured it out. The way he complimented him, the way he watched him work, the way he agreed to the game. How flustered he got when Sherlock kissed him and how strict he was on the rules he had set up. Not to mention the fact that, while normal people would have simply said "No, this game is over," John agreed to marrying him.

And Sherlock knew why.

And he could have laughed.

He knew that John had been going down the same road as Sherlock. He had refused to believe that Sherlock was being serious about loving him because he thought it was too good to be true, and he "knew" Sherlock (To be fair, he knew him very well. People make mistakes). He had agreed to the marriage because he thought that he would have no chance otherwise.

He probably also thought it wouldn't actually happen.

But when he "saw that Sherlock decided he was serious about getting married," he got angry. He thought Sherlock knew, being Sherlock and all, about his feelings. And he thought he was picking on him. Cruelly.

Sherlock grimaced.

And got out his phone.

And over the next couple of days, he texted John.

That day. Day 1.

 _John. –SH_

 _I need to talk to you. –SH_

 **Not now**

 _Use punctuation. –SH_

…

 _That is completely unnecessary. –SH_

 **I said not now!!!**

 _You could have just used one exclamation mark to make your point. –SH_

 _John? –SH_

 _Sorry, I guess. We need to talk. –SH_

 **Sherlock, I said not now.**

 _I know very well what you said. No need to repeat yourself. –SH_

* * *

Day 2

 _You should come back soon. –SH_

 _My mother would have a lot to say right now if she knew anything about it. –SH_

 _John, do you know what my great, great uncle would do if he were alive today? –SH_

 _Scream and scratch at the top of his coffin. –SH_

 _A man walks into a bar. -SH_

 _He's an alcoholic and is ruining his family. –SH_

 _A horse walks into a bar and the bartender asks "why the long face?" -SH_

 _The horse replies "My wife is dying of terminal cancer." The bartender sympathises and adds "I didn't know horses could get cancer." –SH_

 _The rest of the people in the bar wonder who the bartender is talking to and someone calls an ambulance for him. –SH_

 _What did the homeless man get for Christmas? –SH_

 _Come on. This one is easy. –SH_

 **Nothing.**

 _Very good. –SH_

 **Knock knock.**

 _Who's there? –SH_

 **Lestrade. Drugs bust.**

 **How do you make a plumber cry?**

 _You kill his family. –SH_

 **This is hilarious! I'm reading them to Harry, but she doesn't think so. Why are these always so damn funny?**

 _Come back home. –SH_

 _John? –SH_

* * *

Day 3

 _How about if I make dinner? –SH_

 _And we can talk over dinner. -SH_

 **We won't be talking about this at all, Sherlock.**

 _That's hardly fair. –SH_

* * *

Day 4

 _How's your sister doing? –SH_

 **Fine. Besides the drinking.**

 _I would have thought it wouldn't be as bad at this point. –SH_

 **It's not, but she's still… Doing it.**

 _Ah. –SH_

* * *

Day 5

 _You ARE coming back, right? –SH_

 _John? –SH_

 _[X] I don't think I could handle you not coming back –SH [ERROR: MESSAGE CANCELLED]_

 **Yes.**

 _You've been gone for far too long. –SH_

* * *

Day 7

 _We have a case. –SH_

 **[X][ERROR SENDING MESSAGE]**

 _I would appreciate your assistance. –SH_

 **[X][ERROR SENDING MESSAGE]**

 _We don't have to talk about anything but the case. –SH_

 **I'll be there in thirty minutes.**

 **Next time would you actually let my message send when I mean it to? Your last two texts weren't even needed. Actually, the first one probably wasn't much needed. I'm sick of Harry's company and I'm coming back to the flat.**

* * *

John walked into the quiet flat carefully, half hoping he didn't have to see Sherlock. He wasn't so much angry as incredibly embarrassed. Whenever he thought back, all he could see was Sherlock's surprised face. He hadn't expected John to say any of that.

John didn't want to touch the subject. He just wanted to forget about it.

The thing about love, however, was that John didn't want to have to forget about _Sherlock_. And he most certainly didn't want to stay away.

He just didn't want to talk about it.

Sherlock was sitting on the couch upside-down, legs flung up behind it, and was seemingly thinking about something.

John cleared his throat, but Sherlock didn't move or acknowledge him at all. He tried again, moving forward and talking.

"What's the case? Is it a good one?"

"I wouldn't take it if it wasn't," Sherlock replied, eyes still closed. He didn't say anything else.

John had expected him to talk about it.

And he wasn't.

And John was glad. But, then, why was he still feeling so anxious and maybe a bit… disappointed?

It was because all week he had been daydreaming that Sherlock really wanted to say that it was all a misunderstanding and he felt the same way. But John knew better. He knew Sherlock and he had much evidence against this absurd daydream that told him otherwise.

And now he felt he knew that Sherlock just wanted him to forgive him so that he'd stick around.

"I'm not angry with you anymore," John said before he could stop himself. It wasn't entirely true. He didn't know why he had said it at all. Sherlock didn't move for a few seconds.

He moved his legs and sat right on the couch and then pushed himself to his feet, sweeping out of the room before John could say anything. John had just started to feel annoyed with himself when Sherlock swept back into the room with his shoes on.

"We have a case to work on," he said as he put his coat on. "And Lestrade has been acting oddly… sappy and friendly this past week, so I decided to be three hours late to put an end to it."

John only had a moments warning before Sherlock tossed him his phone. He nearly dropped it when he caught it. Sherlock opened the door and started down the stairs, John right behind him.

"There are forty two texts in there from him. Delete them." John grimaced at the phone, closing the door behind him.

* * *

Yes, the taxi ride was quiet. Yes, it was awkward. Not a word was spoken between them after John gave Sherlock his phone. Everything seemed normal and it was weird.

For John, that is. Sherlock felt fine. Happy. Giddy. He just didn't want John to know. Not yet.

They arrived at Scotland Yard to find that it wasn't busy. Not enough for a dangerous case. Certainly not enough for a case that they need to call Sherlock for.

But they walked in anyway.

"DOCTOR! I NEED A DOCTOR!" was the first thing they heard. John immediately bolted over. Sherlock, however, glanced over, observed, and then continued walking to Lestrade's office, not bothering to tell John that the man was joking around.

Lestrade was waiting at his desk, looking fairly angry and typing something up, when Sherlock walked into the room. He looked up.

"Do you know how long I've been waiting for you, you bloody—" Lestrade breathed out of his nose angrily, standing up.

"Yes, I know exactly how long you've been waiting. What do you want? It's not busy here." Lestrade seemed to remember himself, his face taking the sappy, friendly expression Sherlock's grown a hatred for. He moved to the front of his desk and sat against it, crossing his arms.

"A sort of… Intervention."

"A one person intervention?"

"None of the others would come," Lestrade admitted after a second. Sherlock was not surprised. Lestrade took a moment to gain courage for his next words. "I don't think you were lying or joking when you said… what you said… to John." When Sherlock didn't respond, Lestrade cleared his throat and continued. "And I've noticed that John hasn't been around lately. So, he's found out that you were serious, right? And he's gone. You've been very irritable lately and… I guess I just want you to know – I know we're not exactly friends – but I'm here if you need someone to talk to."

John chose that moment to turn around the corner and enter the room, grumbling about how the man was faking or joking, who knows, and, God, Sherlock, if you knew about that, why did you let me go help?

Sherlock smirked at John's muttering, but he was still looking at Lestrade. Like many others, Lestrade misunderstood Sherlock and thought he was laughing at _him_.

Lestrade looked at John and then back to Sherlock. He cleared his throat and stood up awkwardly.

"Right," he said slowly. "Right, then, never mind. I'm… Sorry, I guess I misunderstood. You can go. I mean, my offer still stands, even if it's about other things. Just so you know."

"Thank you," Sherlock automatically replied with a nod, in a tone that said he was only saying it to be polite.

John stared, confused, from Sherlock to Lestrade. Lestrade cleared his throat again. "Right. Excuse me, then." And he was gone.

* * *

The lack of a case oddly didn't bring Sherlock's mood down much. It did rather annoy John, however.

"All that way for nothing… Cab fare and everything…" he was muttering when they got back to the flat. And he found himself alone in the flat with Sherlock again. He realised this when he heard Sherlock close the door. He turned around and Sherlock was looking at him with an odd expression. "What?"

"I'm glad you're back," Sherlock replied quietly, moving towards him carefully. John watched him with a worried, wary expression. Sherlock paused when he saw this. John realised that Sherlock didn't seem any sort of intimidating at that point. He didn't seem like he was going to bring it up or tease him about it anymore. John forced himself to look somewhat passive and inviting without it looking odd. It still ended up looking odd.

Sherlock bit his lips together and, with a sharp sigh, moved forward and wrapped his arms tightly around the doctor. John stood there for a second before hugging Sherlock back.

"Goodnight," Sherlock muttered, his arms loosening. John let go quickly. Sherlock kissed his forehead and swept off to his room swiftly.

And John stood there, conflicted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The scene with Sherlock texting John the anti-jokes has a POV from John that I rather enjoy imagining when reading it. Actually, the whole texting situation has a back story from John that is interesting to me.


	13. Is This Even A Real Case?

It.

Had.

Been.

 _Days._

Days and days since John got back and Sherlock hadn't said a word to him. He _had_ warned him that sometimes he didn't talk for days on end, but to be honest, John was starting to freak the fuck out. Maybe _he_ should be the one saying sorry. But how would that go?

"Oh, Sherlock, I'm just so, so sorry for falling in love with you!" John (sarcastically) imagined saying as he poked at the food on his plate.

"As you well should be! Now stop this "love" nonsense at once!" he imagined Sherlock replying. John snorted and shook his head. Realistically, he knew it wouldn't go anything like that. He tried to imagine it better. Seriously.

"Sherlock?" he would ask. And Sherlock would probably not say anything. "I'm, er… Sorry. About, you know. The love thing."

He couldn't imagine Sherlock replying with anything. He could imagine maybe him glancing at him and leaving the room. He stabbed at a piece of chicken on his plate. What had he actually done _wrong_? Maybe the idea of love just scared Sherlock. Or maybe it disgusted him. Maybe Sherlock was disgusted in him.

But, John thought, he had sent all of those texts, practically begging him to come back to the flat.

Only, he hadn't said "the flat." He had said "home."

John realised he hadn't actually eaten any of the food on his plate. So, he finally started eating.

Sherlock's real problem, however, was the fact that he wanted to talk about it, but he didn't want John running or getting angry with him. Or, that _was_ his problem.

Now, he knew that John actually did want to talk about it. He actually was finding pleasure in watching John squirm. Watching him almost bring it up several times only to stop himself and say something else.

Sherlock kept his mouth shut, however. He knew that if he said anything, his excitement would get the better of him and he'd just tell John.

One week until the date Sherlock wanted for the wedding, however, he found that John might need a little push.

He wasn't okay with that. He didn't push, he shoved.

So, Sherlock shoved.

John was fairly surprised when Sherlock walked into the sitting room wearing a very dapper looking black two-tailed coat over a vest and tie (green, John noted with approval) and a black dress shirt, worn with black dress pants. He looked refined, clean, and determined.

"What?" John asked warily as Sherlock stopped in front of him.

"Get dressed," Sherlock replied smoothly, charmingly. He continued after a small pause. "And hurry up about it." Right. There went that right out the window. John looked at him for a second before getting up reluctantly and heading to his room. He came back soon after dressed up, but not as dressed up as Sherlock.

"Lestrade texted me," John said when they got in the taxi. Sherlock didn't react, but had some very angry words going through his head directed towards Lestrade. "So, this case…"

"Forget about the case. You weren't supposed to know about the case."

"Why not?"

"You're not as good a liar as I am, John, and we need this to be convincing."

"Ah. Right. Sure," John nodded. They were silent, but Sherlock could practically hear John thinking. He saw every twitch and adjustment and knew he had questions, had things he wanted to say. What he chose to say, however, had nothing to do with anything Sherlock knew he was thinking about.

"Do you know what my favourite variation of the horse-in-the-bar joke is?" John asked, looking out his window. He grinned slightly at the window. "A horse walks into a bar. The bartender asks 'Why the long face?' The horse does not respond because it is a horse. It can neither speak nor understand English. It is confused by its surroundings and gallops out of the bar, knocking over a few tables." He chuckled to himself and fidgeted more. Sherlock smiled with a small breath of laughter.

"You have questions," Sherlock said quietly. John stopped fidgeting.

"I… Would have thought you would have tried talking about it by now."

"I promised I wouldn't," Sherlock said defensively, looking out the window and putting his chin out.

"Right, but… You're you; you don't stick with things like that." Sherlock looked over at John.

"How very insulting of you, John. I like to think I'm at least a bit trustworthy to the people I care about."

"There are people you care about?" John asked, before he could stop himself, with a little scoff.

"Well, person," Sherlock said. "Besides the obligatory caring to family members."

"Lucky person," John said very quietly. Sherlock couldn't help himself – he rolled his eyes.

"John, even you are not that obtuse. I think it's actually impossible for you to not understand that I am talking about you, as we were literally talking about me being trustworthy towards _you_ when I said it."

"Right, fine, okay," John replied with a faint smile on his face as he looked out his own window. "Where are we going?"

"Some… party." Sherlock gave a wave of his hand absently, as if he didn't care much when he really, really did.

"Okay… How are we getting in?"

"Conveniently, I was invited and asked to bring a date."

"Right, so I'm going as your," John paused "gue-"

"As my _date_."

"Sherlock, if this is going to end up-" Sherlock turned towards him suddenly.

"It's a case. And I would appreciate it if you would help me."

"Yeah, sure," John muttered, not looking at Sherlock.

"John," Sherlock said, eyes sharp as he put a hand on John's arm. John looked down at the hand and back up at Sherlock. "Really."

"Okay," John said after a moment. "It's not going to end up like last time?"

"It's not going to end up like last time," Sherlock replied, shaking his head. John couldn't help but snicker a bit. Sherlock grinned and, after a second, let go of his arm.

* * *

The place was amazing. John had never seen anything like it. Sherlock, however, had seen this same place many times before. Giant, glittering, and full of people. Beautiful women in dresses, dashing men in suits, and everyone looking generally dapper and polite. Most of the people had a look of politeness on their faces, implying that they were merely being polite because the situation asked it. A few people had an expression John had seen many times on Sherlock's face: boredom.

"Are you related to all of these people?" John asked slowly. Sherlock turned to him and gave him a somewhat offended look.

But "Only about twelve of them, some quite distantly," was his reply as he snatched up John's arm in his own and led him into the room.

"Ah, Sherlock!" came a very familiar voice. They turned towards the voice, Sherlock somewhat reluctantly.

"Mycroft," he said coldly. Mycroft nodded at him and looked to John.

"And Doctor Watson, nice to see Sherlock could drag you along." He eyed their joined arms and then studied John's face. He pushed out his chin slightly, looking from one face to the other. "As his guest, I presume?"

"As my date," Sherlock replied quietly. John fidgeted uncomfortably. Mycroft looked at Sherlock and John had the rare sight of a stare down between the two brothers.

"Right," Mycroft replied, a small hint of surprise in his voice. Sherlock looked extremely annoyed. When Mycroft left, Sherlock was gripping John's arm painfully with his own.

"Sherlock," John muttered. Sherlock began to drag him into the room, still hurting him. "Sherlock," John said a bit louder. Sherlock didn't stop, but he loosened his grip.

"The only reason he believed us, John, was because I could convince him. This is why Lestrade wasn't supposed to _say_ anything to you. Look," Sherlock stopped walking and turned towards him. No one around them was close enough to hear them. "Just pretend this is a real date."

"I don't know if I can do that."

"It's not about if you morally or mentally _feel_ like it or not, it's…" Sherlock ran a hand through his hair. "Let's have it a real date."

"A real date," John flat panned, unamused.

"Yes, John, a _real_ one."

"But it's for the sake of the case."

"Yes, but," Sherlock paused, looking completely annoyed, "No."

"But no?"

"Why can't you just do what I want you to without questioning every movement?"

"Alright, fine. Fine. A date. I don't know how I feel about this. Mostly angry."

"I don't particularly care how you feel about it," Sherlock said, linking their arms again and pulling John along while adding, "Right this second."

He brought them to a table somewhat near a very open space with a number apparently assigned to them. They sat down and Sherlock immediately let go of John's arm and took his hand and everything started. There was a small bell sound and everyone politely broke off their conversations and took their seats. A particularly expensively dressed couple sat down at the table with Sherlock and John.

"Ah," the woman said, a kind smile on her face. "Hello! I'm Natalie and this is my husband, Rick." They all shook hands as Sherlock introduced them in turn.

"Sherlock and my date, John."

Sherlock was getting beyond annoyed at how reluctant John was. He was thinking maybe he should have explained everything _before_ coming, but it was too late. These two were the ones he needed to keep an eye on. John could tell by the look in his eyes, he was sure.

"Nice to meet you! I'm sure this will be fun, won't it?"

"It's bound to be, yes," Sherlock replied with a smile at John.

The forced smile on Sherlock's face quickly became a real one, a loving one, as John was very endearingly staring at their joint hands and the way Sherlock's thumb was running over his hand as John's had during the play. John looked up at Sherlock, face a little red from being caught staring at their hands, but when he saw Sherlock's expression, he quickly looked away, not able to stop his own smile.

"New couple?" she asked with a smile.

"Fairly new, yes," Sherlock chuckled with a squeeze of John's hand. John grinned, rolling his eyes and relaxing a bit. And Sherlock was glad to see that John was actually starting to let himself think Sherlock "might just like him."

 _How absurd,_ Sherlock thought to himself _. I don't simply_ like _you, you idiot, I_ love _you, as I've said many times already._

John caught the thoughtful look on Sherlock's face when the couple looked away to the front of the room.

And they seemed to have started from scratch. They weren't starting with a game like last time, but they weren't just jumping into it like Sherlock had tried to do.

But John just wasn't letting himself get his hopes up. This was for a case; Sherlock had said it himself.

So, obviously, the talk had to happen.

Sherlock took the opportunity when the opening speech was finished and the music began. The couple at their table turned back towards them and the woman smiled.

"I think it's officially time to begin!" she said cheerily as her husband stood up and held a hand for her. She took his hand and they went to the open space. That's when John realised what this was.

"Sherlock, is this some sort of ball?"

"Yes."

"I didn't know they had those anymore."

"Don't be ridiculous, let's go." Sherlock stood up and held out his own hand for John to take. John stared at him for a second.

"Go where?"

"We need to keep an eye on them. We're going to dance." Sherlock grabbed John's hand and pulled John to his feet, leading him to the dance floor. John was flustered, but remembered that he had to play along. In any case, he was quite embarrassed and Sherlock was quite annoyed by it.

He pulled John to the middle and immediately took the lead position.

"Why can't I lead?" John muttered.

"Because I'm taller and the one following a case, now pay attention." Sherlock meant to the case, of course, but it was difficult to do with the way he was dancing.

Sherlock did a waltz circle and John was in awe of how graceful it felt, as he had never been too fantastic at dancing. The way Sherlock moved was making John's head spin, but in a good way. He wasn't dizzy, he was amazed and he couldn't pay attention to anything but Sherlock. No one else was there; it was just the two of them in the dim lighting. It was a while before he realised Sherlock was looking right back at him and had been the whole time.

"What?" Sherlock asked, a little smile on his face as he led John around the floor, weaving in and out of the other dancers gracefully.

"You're amazing at this," John said, "Brilliant. God, I've never danced like this before."

Sherlock's smile widened and his eyes were smiling and John had enough of this. He opened his mouth to say so.

"Can I talk to you yet?" Sherlock asked, beating John to it. He had a little laugh in his voice.

"You… knew I was going to," John said. It was almost a question. Sherlock smiled at him and did yet another waltz circle. John was awed out of his annoyance.

"Can I take that as a yes?"

"I guess," he said a bit reluctantly.

"You're not allowed to run off this time." John nodded with a little sigh. Sherlock nodded back, a little smile on his face. "I was the one who said it first," Sherlock said, turning them around and moving in a different direction.

"What? Said what?"

"I love you."

"Well, yes, I know that, but-"

"No, John, you don't understand," Sherlock said, a hint of annoyance in his voice. "I was the one who said it first."

"Sherlock, really, I know th-"

"No, you really don't, John. You're thinking it was for a case, but it wasn't. I hadn't meant to say it, John, believe me. I mean, yes, in the end it turned out to be extremely helpful to the case, as it startled the woman enough to get the reaction we wanted, but," Sherlock paused, looking very, very annoyed. "I love you."

John just stared at him. He opened his mouth to speak, but Sherlock yet again spoke before him.

"No, I'm not just saying it so you'll stick around- Well, I mean, I suppose I am, but because I love you. No other reason. After that first time, I found out that I wanted you to know. I figured you'd finally understand once we were married, because no matter how many times I said it, you took it as a joke."

"That's… odd. I was going for sort of the same thing."

They hadn't stopped moving the whole time. John looked completely confused, but a bit pink.

"So, basically, you weren't picking on me at all?"

"John, I had no idea you felt the same way."

"No idea? You're Sherlock Holmes! What do you mean 'no idea'?" John asked in disbelief.

"Ironically, we had the same path of thinking. I assumed you wouldn't, so I ignored the obvious signs. And when I started noticing the signs, we were already playing the game – I just figured my plan was working."

Reality didn't seem to really hit John yet. He was very quiet. The third song ended and Sherlock brought them back to the table. They both sat down, but John wasn't looking at him.

He didn't feel too stupid because Sherlock had done the same thing. But it really hadn't hit him yet. He was lost in his thoughts, staring at the napkin in front of him, so when he felt Sherlock's hand on his face, he was surprised and turned to look at him as Sherlock was leading him to do.

"John?"

And his eyes were clear. Worried. No mask at all. John found himself speechless.

"I love you," Sherlock said softly. "And I'm not saying that for a case. Do you believe me?"

"Yes," John said. "Hasn't sunk in yet, but yeah." Sherlock looked pleased with that answer. He quickly reached into his pocket.

"Then, this time it's not a trick on either part," he got down on his knee just as he had done during the play, but this time in a very nice two tailed suit. He took out the ring and put it on John's finger again as John leaned on his knees with other arm, grinning with the sudden realisation that this was actually happening. Sherlock grinned back. "Marry me."

"Always so commanding," John said, his freshly re-ringed hand taking a hold of Sherlock's jacket carefully and pulling him closer, leaning his forehead against Sherlock's. They grinned at each other for a second before John closed the space between their lips and kissed him.

And this kiss meant the same on both ends.

This kiss was the kiss that they had both been working for, and neither wanted it to end.

They pulled back after a second, however, Sherlock on both of his knees and John leaning down a bit so that their foreheads were still against each other. John watched Sherlock's mouth quirk a bit. They didn't really realise they weren't making eye contact at all, just staring at the other's mouth. It honestly didn't matter. Sherlock was watching John grin, John was watching Sherlock grin, and all that mattered in that moment to each one was the pure happiness flowing through their veins.

"Is that a yes?" Sherlock asked, his hand on John's face, fingers tracing slightly.

"It wasn't a question," John replied with a grin. "It was never a question."

Sherlock pulled away with a smile, standing up only to sit down in his own chair. He took John's ringed hand with his own, looking at them.

"Sherlock," John said after a second, "don't you have a case?"

"Oh, I've figured it out," Sherlock nodded. "The husband did it. Notice how he didn't say a word? Natalie knows he wouldn't be very good at hiding the fact, so she had him keep quiet about it, and keep quiet in general."

"Well, what if that means _she_ did it? If she's the one making him keep quiet about it…"

"She didn't. The way she looks at him shows a kind of fear, but not of her getting caught, of him getting caught. She doesn't much care that he did it, no, she wanted it done as well, but she doesn't want him to get caught."

"Brilliant, just… Brilliant."

"Thank you," Sherlock said for once, with the most amazing smile John had ever seen in his life. He smiled right back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that was a bit mushy! Excuse me, but I just have a HUGE thing for two-tailed coats and the intimacy of leaning forehead against forehead, grinning. An idea of what the suit looks like is on my Tumblr, for anyone interested. As well as the ring, if anyone missed that last chapter.


	14. This Is Completely Stupid

The bad thing about all of this happening at the time it did was the fact that Sherlock wanted the wedding on the day he picked out, and, god damn it, he was going to!

The next week was full of stress. They sent every single invitation out that night marked "urgent" and had them set to arrive the very next day. The invitations themselves asked that the guests call the very second they received the letter to confirm if they will be going or not.

Sherlock was opposed to this. He didn't want a huge celebration, he just wanted the date. John would normally be completely fine with this, but he informed Sherlock that his parents would be highly upset if he didn't tell them about it.

"Look at it this way," he told him as he licked the tip of his pen, causing Sherlock to grin and reminisce. "Since it's only a few days away, it's likely that most of these people won't even be able to show."

And, naturally, he was right. The wedding arrived naturally quickly and only a few people showed up. Most of the others had called ahead of time to congratulate them and politely say they couldn't make it. John's parents were the firsts through the doors, followed by Mycroft Holmes, who wore an extremely smug look on his face, a phrase he once uttered to John coming back to him.

Sherlock's mother and Mycroft both decided that it was essential that he have the joining in their own building.

People showed up quickly, amazed that Sherlock had actually decided to marry, or, well, get a partnership. John liked to say "marry." Sherlock liked to correct him.

Even Anderson and Donovan sheepishly walked through the doors, fixed on only congratulating John, even if he _did_ end up with _Sherlock_.

Lestrade and Mycroft had decided they were helping. It didn't matter that Sherlock had snapped at both of them, saying he didn't need help – they both helped. The first thing on their list was making sure Sherlock and John didn't see each other that day until the ceremony.

They snatched Sherlock before John woke up and hauled him to the building, leaving a cab and a note behind for John. They felt they had it completely under control.

But it was Sherlock and John they were dealing with. John was perfectly okay with going along with all of the norms: not seeing the other until the actual ceremony - even letting people fuss over him without a complaint from him. Sherlock, on the other hand, thought it was silly. Pointless.

 _Come out of your room. –SH_

This was the text John got as soon as he had a second to himself. The room was empty for a moment, as the people fussing over him all had something they needed to get from a different area of the building. When John looked down at his phone, he somehow felt that this was Sherlock's doing.

But as he opened the door, he heard a very odd yelp that he had never heard before from a very familiar voice – but didn't see the lovely face it came from. John stood outside his room, looking around at the empty hallway. Until he heard loud bangs coming from the room next to his. He looked over in alarm in time to see Mycroft and Lestrade attempting to get out of the room. Lestrade was apparently struggling with Sherlock, however, and ended up going back into the room.

Mycroft locked the door and turned to look at John.

"You two really are helpless," Mycroft said with a warning in his voice, but with a hint of happiness that John had never seen or heard before from the man. John grinned at his soon to be brother-in-law and put his hands up.

"Hey, it wasn't me."

"You didn't scold him for it, either, did you, John?" John just smiled at him for a moment. He could see some of Sherlock in Mycroft at that point. He could see the happiness he was slightly attempting to hide merely to spite his brother.

"He just wants to see me," John said after a second. "I don't blame him; I much want to see him, myself. I mean, granted, I'm not breaking down doors to-" Ironically, a loud smash was heard from the door of the room Sherlock was currently locked in and a "SHERLOCK!" from Lestrade, causing Mycroft and John both to look over.

John started laughing. The happiness of the whole situation was bubbling up inside of him, and he couldn't help himself. It was getting later in the evening and, although the sun wasn't setting yet, it had the feeling of a quiet, cool late summer evening. And the whole day felt perfect – the whole situation completely ridiculous from the start – and John was laughing and laughing, his voice soon booming, Mycroft beaming at him, and silence from Sherlock's room until Sherlock's shyer laughter joined John's. John could practically see Sherlock scratching at his head and grinning against the door as John leaned against the wall outside the room to laugh. He could just see Lestrade grinning and rolling his eyes, and he could plainly see the wide smile on Mycroft's face – he had apparently dropped his mask, unable to hold it anymore.

But, soon, everything was back to being busy. John was rushed back into his room, Sherlock was allowed to stay in that room as long as he allowed them to fuss over him a bit. Sherlock let them fuss over him, but complained loudly the whole time. Loud enough for John to hear him and laugh, which he very well did.

And, soon, but not nearly soon enough, they were standing in front of each other, trying not to grin like complete morons as they were joined. And Sherlock slipped the ring back on John's finger – he found it silly that there should be two different rings, and John much agreed – knowing certainly that it wasn't something about how much money it might be, as Sherlock didn't every really mind about spending money, but also not caring if that _had_ been the case.

And as he slipped it on, John wanted to watch it happen, he wanted to see the ring on his finger, but he couldn't look away from Sherlock's face. Sherlock himself slipped the ring on without looking away from John's face. John attempted the same in return, unable to look away, and messed up several times, causing Sherlock to snicker and the few people who had arrived (making a crowd enough that Sherlock was a bit bugged by it) laughed in appreciation.

And when they kissed, it was—Okay, it was actually pretty awkward. Sorry to break the romantic mold, but - well, to be fair, it _started off_ cute – the guests "aww"ing when John pulled Sherlock down (just as he had done the day when he kissed him on the forehead) and Sherlock grinned, bending and pressing his lips softly – chastely - against John's. And John grinned against Sherlock's mouth and couldn't help it when his eyes fluttered open a split second later. And the kiss reminded both of them of everything from the beginning.

Their eyes opened, and then they were looking at each other and John looked like he was going to giggle. Sherlock was so endeared and joyed by John's reaction and by the thoughts clearly going through both of their heads about their old game, the game that created this, that he pulled him closer and pretty much devoured his face, gaining a cliché wolf-whistle from someone – probably Anderson, maybe one of John's college buddies.

John was actually pretty torn on what he should do. Push Sherlock off? No- John was finally _his_. Well, keep kissing him like this? No- there were people everywhere!

While he was having this inner war, however, he was letting Sherlock nearly ravish him – though anyone could see how flustered and confused John was. His flushed face, his hands twitching on Sherlock's upper arms as if he wasn't sure if he should push him away or pull him closer while Sherlock's hands were latched on John – the small of his back and the side of his face - pulling him close and ignoring John's obvious confusion.

Luckily, Mycroft took pity on him and they were pulled apart by him and Lestrade. Lestrade was nearly rolling his eyes and Mycroft was giving Sherlock a look that plainly said "I know what you're up to, but it's not going to work." It wasn't until John saw his face when he knew that Sherlock was trying to get them out of the reception.

John rolled his eyes as Sherlock huffed and took his hand. John grinned at him and Sherlock looked sideways at him. He tried not to, but couldn't help but grin. People clapped and they were led out of the building and into a taxi cab (Sherlock asked for this specifically, though Mycroft argued against it – they settled on a fairly expensive, very nice cab.)

Once in the cab, it was silent for a while. John kept fidgeting and, for once, he wasn't the only one. Sherlock couldn't seem to sit still, either.

"Sherlock," John began, turning to ask him a question but halting right away by the look on Sherlock's face. He had apparently been watching John the whole time and his jaw was tight, his eyes dark, and a hint of the butterflies he felt was showing on his face.

"You know you look amazing in a suit?" Sherlock had muttered, though John wouldn't remember it later, because the next second warm lips were on his own, hands on his back pulling him closer, and seat belt restricting him, as Sherlock's hands are up and down John's arms, on his face, in his hair, all soft, but insisting. And it's a clash of lips and tongues and warm breath – but not teeth, they'd learned to avoid that, and good thing, too, because as nice as it might sound in stories - the passion being so much that their teeth clash together - it actually kind of hurts and it's pretty unpleasant.

The kissing is fierce, but it isn't sexual. It's "I've been waiting to do this for a long time," but it's not "get in my pants, dear god, I don't care if we're in a cab," as much as the cabby might think it is. Sherlock's crawling nearly on top of John, kissing him and nearly whining – or is he moaning? No, it sounds like whining. John pulls away ever so slightly.

"What's wrong?" he breaths against Sherlock's lips. Sherlock smiles shakily against John's lips in turn, looking into his eyes.

"I've never felt this happy in my life."

* * *

The reception was completely unimportant to Sherlock, but John had been looking forward to it ever since that dream he had. As he mingled, Sherlock sat at a table, elbows on his knees, chin resting on his fists, and eyes glued on his brother as he glanced at the half of a wedding cake that was still on the table.

"Sherlock," he heard Lestrade say as his lips quirked up into a smirk when Mycroft abruptly looked away from the cake with an annoyed look on his face that only Sherlock or his mother would notice. "I'm really happy for you."

"Cliché," Sherlock replied, hardly opening his mouth.

"No - well, _yes_ , but I mean it!" Sherlock gave a hum in response. "I've noticed you acting differently towards him since he first showed up. Granted, I spent enough time with John that I figured he didn't hold the same interest. Though, to be fair, I should have picked up on it. He talked about you an awful lot – even if it was pretty much all complaining."

Sherlock gave a small grunt in response.

"Should I…?" Lestrade looked to the side, not sure what to do. Sherlock lifted his head off of his hands and looked at Lestrade.

"Thank you."

"I…" Lestrade stared at him for a few awkward seconds. "What?"

"I'm not saying it again," Sherlock scowled.

"No, of course not, but… What for?"

"You pushed it. Even if you did think it was a game, you helped. The moron thought I knew about his feelings the whole time – thought I was being cruel."

"That's horrible," Lestrade said in a voice that suggested he wouldn't be surprised if it had been the case. Sherlock scoffed and turned completely away, his arms crossing over his chest.

"Sherlock, sweetie," a soft voice said. He changed completely. He sat straighter, face softened and eyes widened, and his arms came uncrossed as he turned and looked at his mother, smiling at him kindly. She held out her hands for him and he took them without hesitation, standing up and looking down at her with a small frown.

"What is it?"

"First of all," she began in the same soft, level voice as before, but Sherlock gulped at how deadly he knew it was. "I'm astonished and slightly insulted that you didn't mention John to me before now, though I suppose it's because you didn't realise he was in love with you – He was first, as I can see it." She smiled at him in a way that reminded Sherlock of how Mycroft smiled when he wasn't pleased with something. He became anxious.

"I'm sorry, mummy," was his muttered reply. She let go of his hands and stood on her toes to move some of his curls out of his face, smiling at him softer.

"The reason I came over, Sherly, dear, is to tell you that it's time for you to dance with him." Sherlock scowled slightly at the use of "Sherly" and his mother gave a soft giggle and hugged him. He hugged her back and was suddenly aware that John was standing next to him. When he let go, after his mother pulled him down to kiss him on the cheek, she vanished into the fairly small crowd of people. He looked after her, wondering where she went and ignoring John's smug face.

"Sherly?" John asked, laughter in his voice. Sherlock glared at him. "And I believe I heard you say 'mummy?'" Sherlock grabbed John's hand and brought him to the middle of the dance floor, scowling and sneering the whole way while John just chuckled.

And when Sherlock pulled John towards him, setting them up to dance, John forgot what he was laughing about and Sherlock forgot what he was scowling about. They stared at each other for a moment, aware that everyone was looking at them and waiting for the music to start. Aware that the joining honestly didn't change anything that would have happened, anyway. As Sherlock had said, it just made things easier – especially financially.

And when the music started, John remembered that he sucked at dancing. He was especially nervous, stumbling and stepping on Sherlock's shoes a couple of times. Sherlock merely smiled at him.

"Relax, I've got you. Just follow my lead, that's all you have to do," he told him in a deep voice. John gave a sigh and tried. He let Sherlock swoop him around the room. Let him have them turn in wide circles, let him practically make him swoon with how amazing he was at dancing. He was breathless. It was even more amazing than his dream. He smiled at Sherlock.

"How's Mycroft doing? Staying away from the cake?" Sherlock gave a bark of laughter, slightly shocked.

"Was it really that noticeable? I thought he was doing fine at hiding it."

"You told me while you were sick. You were talking about the wedding and you said something like "At our wedding, there will be cake and Mycroft will want some but won't have any," or something. It was funny. Kind of endearing. You act really childish while you're sick, you know that? Practically begged me to stay in your room with you." Sherlock gave a small scowl, but it didn't really hold any negative emotion he wanted it to. He sighed and went back to smiling.

"It's not… Something that happens often."

"What? You being childish? That's complete bullshit," John laughed a bit loudly, but it was cut off when Sherlock swooped them around quickly with a tiny glare. He smirked at John's surprised expression.

"This… is completely stupid, you do realise," Sherlock said to him after a moment. John raised an eyebrow.

"Completely stupid? Why? How? It was your idea in the first place."

"It was," Sherlock agreed, "but it was originally a plan to get you trapped into a marriage and make you fall in love with me. Now it seems…"

"Pointless?" John asked carefully.

"I want to say that."

"You want to?"

"Yes, but it wouldn't work so well."

"I'm… not quite sure what you're getting at," John admitted sheepishly.

"I want to say 'Marriage is pointless. It's easy to use for manipulation and it can be useful in cases, but is otherwise pointless,' but I can't. I want to, because it's completely true, but I can't because I don't want to take it back."

"Okay," John said slowly. "Why's that, then?"

"Because," Sherlock actually took a moment, spinning them around, weaving throughout the crowd, but all as a distraction to John as he thought of a proper response. "Because you're mine," is what he finally spat out, his cheeks turning pink immediately after.

"Oh, well… Uh, I'd still be yours even if we weren't married," John supplied, knowing he was only doing so for Sherlock to get on the right path of what he wanted to say.

"Yes, of course, but… It's the ring, then, I suppose. The ring. It says plainly that you're mine – and you can't leave if we're married – well, technically, it's not married, but you get the basic idea. It's too much work for us to break apart, not that I'd ever want to, so you're stuck with me now."

John shook his head, grinning. The song ended and they stilled, arms lowered but still partially around each other. "You say that like it's something horrible."

"Isn't it?"

"No, Sherlock," John said as he pulled Sherlock down and kissed him. Sherlock grinned against his lips.

"Fine," he muttered. "It's all fine?"

"All fine," John chuckled.

"Whatever shakes my boat?" Sherlock teased, smirking and pulling back slightly.

"Shut up," John replied, laughing and pushing Sherlock further away from him, but grabbing his hand and looking away. Sherlock laughed as if he really didn't want to, but couldn't help himself.

He gave a sigh after his laughter calmed down and immediately said "I don't want to be here any longer," with a smile still plastered on his face.

"Should we go, then?"

"God, yes."

And they were gone – not before seeing Mycroft give in and have a slice of cake, but certainly before Anderson made them a drunken speech (that was recorded on camera, thank god, as neither of them realised they'd be missing that sort of gold when they rushed out the door.)

And as they reached their flat, they knew that they wouldn't ever want to buy an actual house. Even if this flat was sometimes falling apart, it wasn't just a flat now. It was home to both of them, and that wouldn't change – even if John decided somewhere down the road that he wanted a dog that Sherlock very much did not want.

And as the door closed behind them, Sherlock looked around the flat and everything felt amazingly the same now that everything was different. He looked at John to see him gazing at him with an overjoyed grin on his face.

"Welcome home, then, Sherlock."

"Welcome home, John."

And that was just the same as "I love you" to both of them. It was just the same as "Thank you" and "Sorry" and all the words they hadn't had time to say before it finally kicked in that every daydream – every dream, fantasy, and messed up misunderstanding - was nothing in comparison to how they felt at that very moment.

It was just the same as "I'm yours" and just the same as "You're finally mine."

It was just the same as "You need to clean the damn kitchen before we do anything else, for god's sake, is that acid - I think it's burning through the sink."

But, most importantly, it was exactly as it sounded. And everything was blissfully domestic for all of a minute before Sherlock got bored and decided to test his new "marriage rights" with many different "studies" that John _certainly_ didn't mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I hope it was enjoyable!


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